


Harbingers of Death

by AllHailHaykemie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Mystery, Romance, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27667882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllHailHaykemie/pseuds/AllHailHaykemie
Summary: He is a Hellhound, Guardian of the Supernatural, and the nice guy deputy. She is a banshee, still exploring her supernatural powers, and not a normal teenage girl. Death will bring them together to form an unshakeable bond.This Marrish fanfic will be the story of how Jordan and Lydia's relationship should've turned out in in S4-S6 with a fresh new perspective and new scenes!
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	1. Drawn to Death

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I started this fanfic because it killed me that a Lydia and Jordan ship was dangled in front of us for so long with the perfect slow burn and then it was like the writers suddenly changed their mind mid-season about getting them together. Like what??? I fell in love with their relationship throughout season 4 and 5 and eagerly awaited the scene where they finally gave in to their feelings for each other...and it never happened. I am going to correct this absurd injustice with this multi-chapter fanfic. It will generally follow the show and some scenes will be canon, but be warned, I will be changing some details, conversations, and scenes to fully support a Marrish ship. I'm hoping to interject some missing scenes and extended conversations into this fic that we did not see in the show. The MCs will always be Jordan or Lydia and most chapters will be from one of their POVs. Enjoy!

Sweat dripped down his forehead as he carefully examined the homemade bomb before him half hidden in the ground. It had been spotted by the explosive detection canine that traveled with the Explosive Ordnance Disposal unit Specialist Parrish was a part of. Jordan Parrish was always impressed every time K9 Rex would detect an IED. That dog was the best part of being on this team. Not only a valuable asset, but a perfect companion in these deserts overseas. Jordan loved that dog and was hoping to adopt him once the K9 hit retirement age. But first he had to do his job, defuse this bomb, and make it back home safe from this war-torn country. _Nine more months to go_ , he thought.

His unit was already responsible for 16 IED disposals in the few months they had been deployed in Afghanistan. This bomb seemed to be no different than the others he had personally diffused, but you never can shake that nervous twist in your gut every time you come face to face with a live bomb no matter how many successes you have under your belt. He carefully cut the trip wire that had been set out across the road they were travelling and started to set up the blocks of C4 that they would use to purposefully explode the IED. As it turns out, the main method to defusing these types of bombs was to blow them up. There were no red, blue, and green wires where you had to make an educated guess which one to cut. There were no clock timers that were counting down to zero that you were able to stop just before they blew. Those scenarios were all Hollywood and rarely used in the real world. Even so, Jordan would never say no to watching a James Bond or Lethal Weapon flick, no matter how unrealistic they were.

In formal training, Jordan had been taught that just one C4 should do the trick on most bombs, but his Sergeant always made them triple it. 

“We don’t take chances on the 1 out of 100 bombs that one block of C4 just isn’t enough,” Sergeant Hinton would say. “The government calls it wasteful and I just tell them to shove it up their ass.”

Jordan had just carefully laid the third block of C4 when everything went white and the air was punched out of him. The explosion threw his body back and all he could hear was ringing in his ears.

Jordan jerked awake and realized his phone was ringing. Groggily he answered, "Hello?"

"Parrish, I need you to come in. There's been a triple homicide," Sheriff Stilinki's voice rang out from the other end.

"On my way," Jordan responded, his heart still racing from the dream he just had. He ran a hand through his short brown hair. It was normal for soldiers to have nightmares or PTSD from their time during deployments; but ever since he got back, and left the military, the same dream plagued him. The dream would come and go, sometimes leaving him alone for weeks, but it seemed to always come back around. The strange thing about it is that during his time in the IED disposal unit, he had never had one explode on him. He had known a couple soldiers in other units who had been killed by IEDs that unfortunately weren't detected in time. He supposed that dreams fed on your anxieties, past or present, so maybe it's not that surprising that in his dream a bomb had exploded on him. He experienced that wave of relief whenever he awoke from the dream to find that he was indeed alive; and felt a pang of remorse for the ones who never made it back home.

But Beacon Hills was not home to Jordan Parrish. He had never really had strong roots anywhere throughout his life being a military brat himself, moving from one part of the country to another frequently. He hoped maybe this small town could become a home to him. Once out of the army, he decided law enforcement was a good fit and had applied to several openings. Beacon Hills had been quick to hire him as they seemed to be hurting for new deputies. 

Twenty minutes later Jordan found himself in front of a beautiful two-story gothic style house in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Beacon Hills. The entire street was lit up with flashing lights of cops, fire rescue, and EMS against the impending light of dawn. A small crowd of curious neighbors had gathered, craning their necks over the temporary barriers for a glimpse of what had happened.

“Parrish! Over here,” called Sheriff Stilinski from inside the yellow police tape. 

Jordan ducked underneath it surveying the scene from the front of the house. Despite the heavy police presence, the house looked like it couldn’t possibly contain anything horrific inside. But Jordan’s eyes wandered up to the second story and paused at the unmistakable bloodstain on the white railing of the balcony and noticed the small broken window behind it.

“Any leads on what happened?” asked Jordan

“We’re still processing the scene and the bodies. Come take a look.” Stilinski motioned him to follow. 

Jordan squeezed past other law enforcement securing the outside perimeter and stepped into the front hallway. The house had every indication of a nice upper middle class family home. An ornate grandfather clock decorated the main hall, exquisite china sat unused in a decorative curio cabinet in the dining room, and photos of smiling faces greeted Jordan as he followed Sheriff Stilinski up the polished wooden staircase.

“The house is owned by the Walcott family. Mother, father, and two sons live here. The youngest son, sixteen year old Sean, ran into the emergency room in his pajamas, arms covered in blood an hour ago and collapsed. He seems mostly unharmed and his vitals are stable. The rest of his family was not so lucky.” Stilinski led Jordan into the master bedroom and he saw red...literally. There was blood splashed on the walls, sprayed onto the ceiling, and coating the floors and king size bed. The father was slumped in a seated position facing the door. The mother was lying supine in the doorway to the master bathroom, wide eyes filled with horror staring up at something that was no longer there. 

“It doesn’t look like a gun was used and so far none of the neighbors heard any gunshots,” Stilinski said.

“A knife?” Jordan asked, trying to get a closer look at the bodies without disturbing their positions or any potential evidence.

“Possibly, but preliminary thoughts are a hatchet or an axe was used.”

“So we may have an axe murderer on the loose in Beacon Hills? I figured that only happened in the movies.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Stilinski running a tired but anxious hand through his hair.

Jordan wondered if he had been wrong about murder and other violent crime in small towns. In the beginning, he figured working at Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department was going to be mostly teenage vandalism and petty theft. A quiet respite compared to the mayhem of war. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He had been in Beacon Hills for over two months and in that short time there had been missing persons, bombs, murders, and not to mention the time he almost died after facing the sword-wielding masked men at the station. There were too many strange happenings that seemed to be a common occurrence around this area. He couldn’t help but feel like he was being left out of all the details of the crimes here, and that Sheriff Stilinski was not always being forthcoming with him. 

The oldest son’s room was worse. He had been hacked at by a bladed weapon as well, but he had also been lifted up and impaled on one of his own pointed bedposts. Most younger officers would gag and vomit at such a scene, but after a couple tours in the Middle East and dealing with IEDs, this was sadly not much worse than the death that Jordan had already witnessed in his life. 

Stilinski sent Jordan back to the station to start the tedious process of background checks and digging up any paperwork he could find on the Walcott family. What kind of person could try to kill an entire family like this? What terrible vengeance could be the motive? Jordan knew they had to find a lead soon because the more time that passed, the easier it would be for the murderer to slip away.

* * *

The setting sun cast tall shadows of the neighborhood palm trees as Jordan sat in his patrol truck across the street from the Walcott’s house poring over crime scene photos looking for something they may have missed. After a long day of searches and interviews, they were no closer to finding a lead. Bank records had shown no money problems, no criminal history in the family, and no witnesses to any suspicious events leading up to the murders. No valuables had been taken so robbery had already been ruled out. With how brutal the killings were, it came across as a personal vendetta. But no one had uncovered a motive for revenge on this seemingly average middle-class family. Maybe this was the work of a madman or serial killer. Jordan hoped not as random killings were much harder to solve because the murderer has no connection to their victims.

He had hoped Sheriff Stilinski would come back from the hospital with more information and a lead they could follow, but he had arrived back at the station that afternoon with nothing new to report. The coroner had confirmed an axe shaped weapon was used along with blunt force trauma. Unfortunately, Sean, the only survivor, was not speaking to anyone. Maybe after a few days, he would start to talk and tell them who was in his house that night. 

Jordan had a short argument with the sheriff about returning to the Walcott's house and looking for more clues. Stilinski did not want anyone at the crime scene, but Jordan had a nagging feeling that there was something there that they were missing. If he could just have a careful look around without any crime scene investigators crowding the scene, maybe he could spot something. But Stilinski had ordered the scene closed off to everyone until some expert from Quantico was brought in to look at the case. 

Even so, Jordan found himself parked across the street, watching over the murder house like its guardian. He knew Stilinski would not be happy that he was here, but he wasn’t going to go inside so he wasn’t necessarily disobeying orders. He was just going to watch out front for a while for any suspicious activity. He had just looked up from one of the crime scene photos in his lap towards the front door when he saw a flash of color. There was someone inside the house! His heart gave a jolt of adrenaline and he stepped out of his truck drawing his weapon. He reached the front door quickly and cracked it open stepping inside.

“Beacon County Sheriff’s Department!” he called out. “This is a crime scene, show yourself!”

He looked into the drawing room to his right, when a figure appeared down the front hall in front of him. He swung his gun to the left and aimed it right at a young woman. Her long strawberry blonde hair spilled in waves down her back. Her furrowed brows conveyed confusion and her wide hazel eyes held a gentle innocence. Jordan sighed with relief and lowered his gun. This girl was definitely no threat.

She looked at Jordan and asked, “Where am I?”

* * *

The voice echoing down the front hall jolted Lydia into her present surroundings. She found herself in a strange home that was certainly not her own. She stepped softly towards the hall just down on her left and found herself staring at the barrel of a gun and a fresh faced deputy that held it. There was no fear in her eyes nor quivering of her hands as she faced him. She was Lydia Martin, top of her class at Beacon Hills High, almost 18 years old, oh and not to mention a banshee who had faced many different creatures over the years in Scott McCall’s werewolf pack. A deputy with a gun was nothing compared to the monsters she has faced before.

The deputy lowered his gun and she looked at him curiously before asking, “Where am I?”

He looked relieved as well as perplexed by her question, holstering his weapon as he answered, “This house belongs to the Walcotts and it’s an active crime scene. Do you know them? Are you a relative or friend of the family?”

“No…” she trailed off while taking in her surroundings. “You said crime scene? What happened here?”

“Three of the Walcott family were murdered in this house last night. Excuse me ma’am, but no one is allowed in here right now. Who are you and why are you here?” the young deputy asked.

“My name is Lydia Martin and…” how was she going to explain to this new deputy her attraction to death. It’s not like she walked around Beacon Hills telling strangers ‘Hi, I’m a banshee and I find dead bodies and can feel when someone is about to die.’ The last thing she remembered before he showed up was driving home from school; and somehow she had ended up here standing before this stranger instead. Damn banshee trances.

“Lydia...I’ve heard about you,” he said surprising her before she could come up with anything to say to him. “Some of the other deputies have mentioned you before. How you have a habit of showing up at crime scenes. So why is that?”

Lydia turned and walked further into the house past the stairs, “I would try to explain it, but I’ve never gotten a satisfactory explanation myself.”

The deputy followed her, “Just an unusual habit of showing up at places where people have been brutally murdered?” Was that judgement in his voice? She turned around and looked haughtily into those green eyes.

“Are you saying I have a reputation?” she challenged folding her arms in front of her.

“An unusual one,” he shot back. Well he didn’t beat around the bush did he? “Maybe your psychic,” he surmised.

She scoffed at that and looked him up and down. She noticed the nameplate on his breast said his name was Parrish. “Don’t tell me you believe all that?” Trying to dissuade his nosiness, but he was a cop; being nosy was his job. 

His jaw twitched at her snark and she moved past him. “I’d like to say I don’t believe in anything. But I keep an open mind. If you’re looking for dead bodies I think you’re a little late.”

She didn’t respond as she stopped in front of the wood panelling of the wall across from the stairs. He was right. If the murders had been last night and the bodies had already been taken to the morgue, then why had she been drawn here now? A sense of dread suddenly filled her gut and her heart rate increased. The wood panelling in front of her was different from the others. There were faces in the wall...screaming faces with empty eyes and horror-stricken expressions. Lydia could hear their imprisoned cries in the distance as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. 

She reached out to the faces in the wood and pushed on the panel. It hissed as the wall cracked open towards them, a chill escaping into the air. With wide eyes she turned back to Parrish as he once again drew his gun. He put a hand on her shoulder indicating for her to stay back as he turned on his flashlight and stepped into the dark hidden corridor. Bricks and cobwebs lined the secret passageway and the temperature dropped at least 20 degrees. Lydia followed closely behind him, rubbing her arms against the chill looking around, paranoid that some monster may jump out from the shadows. They came to a soft lighted doorway on the left, covered by those thick strips of plastic that are found in large refrigerated butcher’s rooms. The deputy looked back, meeting her anxious eyes before he pushed aside the plastic hangings, shining the flashlight all around the room. He found a switch on the wall and turned it on. Bright fluorescent lights flickered on to reveal a large room with plastic bags hanging from the ceiling in every direction. There must be about 20 of them.

“I think it’s a game locker,” he said. “Like venison. Hunting’s legal in some parts of the state, but…” he continued, but trailed off as he got closer to one of the bags. 

“What is it?” Lydia gulped as she hugged herself against the freezing air. That familiar dread was building up inside her telling her there were no deer inside these bags. She willed her heart steady against the rising panic and focused on controlling her breath which misted through the cold. 

The deputy reached up with a hesitant hand and pulled down the zipper of the closest bag. Wet lanky hair framed the bluish skin of a dead woman’s corpse. Her soulless eyes were open looking down at the floor with complete despair being her last expression before she left this world.

Deputy Parrish stated the obvious, “Not venison.”

* * *

Half an hour later dusk had come and gone as Jordan and Lydia waited outside the Walcott house for the coroner’s office to start the process of removing the bodies from the refrigerated locker and transporting them to the morgue. Jordan finished filling in another deputy on how the bodies were discovered and walked over to where Lydia was sitting on the curb, wrapping up a hurried phone call. She hung up and looked up at him, still covered in his jacket he had placed around her shoulders earlier. She had still been shivering even after they had emerged from the cold room into the balmy evening air outside. 

“Are you ok?” Jordan asked her. A lot of people go through their whole lives without encountering a dead body. Especially an unexpected one...or twenty. Then he remembered the stories he had heard of Lydia finding dead bodies; some of them in a more gruesome fashion than this. She nodded up at him.

“Do you need a ride home?” he offered, wanting to help if he could.

She stood and slipped out of his jacket handing it back to him. “No, I can drive myself home. Thank you for the offer.”

“I realize that I never properly introduced myself,” he stuck out his hand. “My name is Jordan. Jordan Parrish.”

She offered him a small smile and shook his hand. “Sorry to meet you under these circumstances,” she nodded her head towards the house. “But I’m glad I didn’t find a room full of dead bodies on my own for once.” She sighed, dropping his hand. “Good luck Deputy Parrish. And welcome to Beacon Hills.”

Jordan watched her turn and head towards her car. Lydia was an intriguing person who had obviously seen death like himself. Never once did she cry or dissolve into hysterics after finding the bodies. He could tell that she was the type that could take care of herself, but there seemed to be a deep sadness within her that she tried to mask. Jordan shook his head to himself, no one that young should see the things that she had seen. But he had not been much older than her when he had seen his first victim of war...which only reinforced his previous thought.

His thoughts turned back to the house. So now the plot has thickened. Why would this family have a secret room filled with dead people? Did they kill them? Who were among the dead? Had a loved one of the dead found out what this family had done and enacted their revenge last night?

His radio interrupted his contemplation, “OFFICER DOWN. I REPEAT OFFICER DOWN. BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL. ALL AVAILABLE UNITS PLEASE RESPOND!” Jordan ran to his patrol truck, his blood running cold as the realization hit him. The only deputy that he knew was present at the hospital is guarding the door to Sean Walcott’s room.  _ Dammit! _ “10-4 on my way,” he responded to dispatch. He threw the truck into drive and flipped the switch for his sirens.  _ Please let Sean be alive. _

  
  



	2. The Assassin and the Code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is based on the episode: The Benefactor. I'm not a huge fan of this chapter as I feel it just retells too many scenes from the show. However, if I skipped these scenes then plot would be lost or become confusing. I am aiming at telling this story intertwined with the show so that anyone can read it and follow along without becoming lost, even if they haven't seen the show or it's been awhile. I promise there will be more added scenes and dialogue, especially as Jordan and Lydia get to know each other. So far each chapter is one episode, but that may change in the future if Lydia and Jordan aren't prominently featured.

The squealing of tires split across the quiet parking lot in front of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. Jordan had pulled up seconds after Sheriff Stilinski and raced inside the front glass doors after him. Staff members were in a state of confusion as they burst into the main hall. At the end of the hall, the elevator doors opened and two nurses gasped as Melissa McCall, one of the head nurses, limped out of it with blood down her shirt and sleeves. She waved the other nurses off as Stilinski and Parrish ran up to her.

“Third floor, the deputy is dead. Sean…” she gasped, still breathing hard.

“Where are you hurt, Melissa?” asked Stilinski with concern.

“It’s not...it’s not my blood,” she replied, brown eyes wide with shock and curly brown hair askew.

“Parrish, follow me!” the Sheriff barked, wasting no time as they hurtled up the stairwell, the elevator being too slow. 

The third floor doorway banged open as the two officers stepped through it, their guns drawn. Blood smeared the white floors and spattered the walls leading down the hall to Sean Walcott’s hospital room. They approached cautiously with Jordan covering them from behind. An ominous feeling slithered down Jordan’s spine at the sight of the open door to Sean’s room, and the oppressive silence that filled the hallway seemed to roar in his ears. 

“Sheriff’s department!” shouted Stilinski from the side of the doorway. “Anybody in there?”

No answer. He motioned for Jordan to cover him as he stepped through the doorway. 

After a moment Stilinski announced, “It’s clear Parrish. No Sean.”

Jordan entered the room and the acrid smell of blood and death hit his nostrils before he saw the grisly scene. Beside the empty hospital bed, Deputy Brunson was splayed out on the floor. His abdomen had been ripped open, intestines and organs spilling out onto the floor. 

“What could’ve done this?” Parrish’s voice raw with horror.

“I don’t know, but we need to find Sean.” 

“He’s on the roof, Sheriff.” Jordan whirled towards the source of the voice and in the doorway stood a tall dark-haired teen in bloody clothes. Jordan recognized him as Scott McCall, the son of the nurse downstairs and classmates with the Sheriff’s son, Stiles. Scott often accompanied Stiles to the station to talk with the Sheriff.

“Alive or…” The 17 year old was already shaking his head. The Sheriff huffed out a sigh, “You didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t kill him,” Scott had already known the question. “But he did attack me.”

“Sean attacked you? Why would he do that?” Jordan asked Scott. A hollow stare was his only answer as if he hesitated to say any more. 

“You hurt, son?” asked the Sheriff.

Scott just shook his head, “I need to check on my mom downstairs.”

“Of course, don’t leave until we get your statement,” said Stilinski. He turned to Jordan who was still staring at the mutilated body. “Come on, Parrish.”

They followed the bloody trail back into the stairwell and up to the 3rd floor roof access door. Once open, Jordan propped the door with a cement block. They walked out into the clear night air and passed the large skylight windows sticking up from the cement rooftop. To their right lay Sean’s body, face down with a bloody wound in between his shoulder blades. 

Jordan circled the rooftop to make sure they were alone. If Scott was telling the truth, they were now dealing with a serious killer. Someone smart enough to get in and out of the hospital unseen. 

“Rooftop is clear, Sheriff,” he said walking back to the Sheriff who was bent over Sean’s body trying to examine the wound.

He pointed at the bloody mark and looked up at Jordan, “Look familiar?”

Jordan leaned closer, “Same bladed weapon as the rest of the family. Scott didn’t do this, right Sheriff?”

The Sheriff contemplated, “I trust Scott, but let’s figure out what he knows. Could you start collecting statements from him and his mother? I’m sure the rest of the police force has arrived by now so I will stay up here to direct them.”

“Sure thing,” Jordan said as he started to head to the ground floor. 

* * *

“Let me get this correct. Sean attacked the deputy in his room and started...eating him?..when you, Ms. McCall, interrupted him which caused him to come after you? Then Scott, you arrived, fought him, chased him up onto the roof and a…” Jordan’s eyes glanced over his report, “...man with no mouth kills Sean and gets away?”

Melissa and Scott McCall stood before Jordan next to the nurse’s station, both looking grim. If this wasn’t such a serious situation, Jordan would think they were both pulling his leg with this ludicrous story. He had caught Melissa’s side-eyed nervous glance towards Scott while he had given his statement, making Jordan wonder if there was anything he may be leaving out of what had happened. It didn't compute what this kid had done before he was killed. Feasting on a body with his bare hands? How does something happen like that?

“And there’s nothing else you’d like to add?” Jordan implored.

Melissa just shook her head and Scott maintained, “That’s all I know, deputy. Like I said before, I have never seen that man on the roof and I have no idea who he could be.”

"Alright, if you think of anything else, you know where to find me," sighed Jordan in defeat.

After securing the statements in his patrol truck, Jordan headed back to the rooftop. By now other officers had arrived on the scene and a helicopter had been called in to patrol the area. Parrish relayed by radio to the helicopter the information Scott had provided of the other man on the rooftop. Tall, pale skin, hairless, and dressed in all black. He cringed when the pilot made him repeat the part about the suspect having no mouth. But surely, it was part of a mask or disguise to make it look that way.

He arrived back at Sean Walcott's body as other officers were cordoning off the scene waiting on the crime scene investigators and the medical examiner. Jordan pulled the Sheriff aside and passed on the more detailed statements that Melissa and Scott had told him. 

“I got the feeling they were hiding something,” Jordan confessed. “This doesn’t make sense, Sheriff. A 16 year old kid overpowered Brunson, killed him, then started...eating him? How is this possible? Could he have been infected with some disease like rabies?”

“I don’t know, Parrish,” replied Stilinski. “But I promise we’ll get to the bottom of this whole thing.”

“Melissa stated that Sean said he was ‘so hungry’, but he had refused to eat any of his food…” Jordan trailed off as a cold chill creeped down his neck. The bodies. In the midst of the situation here, he had almost forgotten about the bodies in the meat locker behind the hidden door at the Walcott’s house. Maybe this kid wasn’t alone in his cannibalistic ways. Maybe it was the whole family. 

“What is it?” asked Stilinski, noticing the realization etched across Jordan’s face.

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you what I found at the Walcott’s right before I was called here,” Jordan said.

“I thought I told you that I didn’t want anyone in that house! So now you’re telling me you disobeyed my orders?” Stilinski looked put-off.

Jordan explained what happened with Lydia, the hidden room, and the bodies. “I wasn’t intending to enter the house, Sheriff honest! But think about it, why do you think this family would keep a meat locker of bodies inside their house? Are we talking about a whole family of cannibals here? Did any of the crime scene investigators look in the fridge or pantry in their home? I’d be curious if there were any food in there, wouldn’t you? Maybe that is the motive for our killer. He must know about this family’s particular eating habits and wanted to exterminate them. That is the only thing that makes sense right now.”

“Ok Parrish, you may be onto something. I will get someone to check if there was food in that house,” Stilinski lowered his voice. “For right now, let’s get everyone off the roof and see if you can stall the ME for 5 minutes. I’ve got an expert of my own coming to take a look.”

Jordan raised his eyebrows and shot a look towards Sean’s body, "You have an expert on teenage cannibals?"

Stilinski tightened his mouth and squinted at Jordan, "5 minutes, Parrish."

Jordan knew the discussion was over and signaled to the other officers to follow him off the roof. He was certain in his gut he was onto something. If this whole family were cannibals, that had to be the motive for their suspect to kill them all. The question now was who was this guy? Had he known someone who was taken by this family? How had he found out what this family was up to? There had been no suspicious activity linked to this family in their backgrounds which meant they must have been very good at capturing their prey silently and quickly. 

He was determined to get answers even if Stilinski kept shutting him down. He really respected the Sheriff and thought he was good at his position; but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that Sheriff Stilinski always knew a lot more than he was telling on some of the strange things that happened around this town. That military training ingrained into his head told him that something was off. Interrogation tactics that he had learned let him know when people were lying or skirting around the truth. And he was coming across a lot of people lying to him lately. He decided he was going to keep his head down, ears and eyes open, and figure out what was really going on around here.

* * *

Lydia frowned at her laptop screen as random letters, numbers, and punctuation scrolled fast before her as she sat in class. Before school started, Stiles Stilinski had handed her back a notebook she had been taking math notes in and letting Malia Tate, his girlfriend, borrow to help her keep up. 

“It’s happening again,” Stiles had postulated.

“What are you talking about?” Lydia had shot him a puzzled look.

Stiles opened the notebook and simply pointed to a page in her own handwriting. It was not her math notes at all, but a nonsensical series of characters.

“This must mean something,” Stiles had remarked. “Remember your drawing of the Nemeton?”

The tree that had been cut down and lost in the woods. An old source of power for the supernatural, and the site of some recent dramatic events in Beacon Hills over the past couple of years. Her drawings had been the key to finding the Nemeton and saving lives. She would not ignore these pages written in her hand, even unknowingly. She knew this was important. She just had to figure out what it meant and how to solve this new puzzle...before people got hurt.

Now here in class, she was reviewing the pages that she had retyped into her laptop.

Kira Yukimura, another member of Scott McCall's werewolf pack, leaned over from the seat next to her and peered at Lydia’s screen, her sleek black hair falling over her shoulder. “These are your math notes? No wonder Malia’s failing.”

“Um, some of them are my notes,” Lydia looked at the characters more closely. “The rest I think might actually be a code.”

“But you don’t remember writing it?” 

Lydia furrowed her brow and glanced sideways at Kira, “Not in the slightest. But considering my drawing of a tree led us to the Nemeton, we should probably figure out what it means before it tries to kill us.”

“Maybe it’s like the Enigma Code the Allies used,” Kira suggested. “Remember my dad was a World War II buff? And my mom was, well...in it.”

“I think this is a variation on something called the Vigenere Cipher,” said Lydia recalling some of her computer code knowledge.

“Do you know how to crack it?”

Lydia shrugged, “With a key.”

A key suddenly dangled in the air in front of Lydia’s face. She looked up unto the blue eyes of Natalie Martin, biology teacher here at the school and also Lydia's mother. She let the keychain hang from her index finger waving in front of her daughter's face.

“Remember the rules. No more than six people allowed in the lake house. Stay out of the wine. And if anything gets broken, it’s getting added to your credit card debt.” Natalie said trying to act like a stern mother who dealt consequences out frequently.

“Fine,” said Lydia as she reached for the keys. Her mom jerked the keys back out of reach.

“And lock up the basement. From all the scratch marks I found on the walls, it looked like a pack of wild animals got down there.” She handed Lydia the keychain and Lydia tried to contain her grimace, giving Kira a knowing side glance. 

Hopefully her mom never caught on to why they were visiting the lake house once a month. Tonight was a full moon...and they would need it for Malia.

* * *

Lunch break came and Lydia headed for the parking lot to meet the rest of the gang. Scott had texted everyone that he had an urgent situation that he needed their help with. Lydia couldn’t help but wonder if this code she had been pondering over all day had anything to do with this pack meeting. 

She smiled at Scott, Stiles, Malia, and Kira who were already waiting for her. There couldn’t be a more diverse group of friends at Beacon High. Scott was tall, tan skin with dark hair and brown eyes that gave off a serious vibe about him. He was a true alpha werewolf, bitten by Peter Hale over a year ago, and a fiercely loyal friend. He had become a true alpha not by killing, which is the conventional way; but by his strength of character and sheer will to lead his own pack of his choosing. 

Kira was a mix of Japanese and Korean with black hair and shy brown eyes. She was a kitsune, or a fox, also known as a ‘trickster’ in Japanese folklore. She did not change forms like a werewolf or other supernatural creatures. Her fox was more of an aura that surrounds her in light and strength. 

Malia had thick wavy brown hair that never seemed tame and brown eyes that never softened, unless maybe they were looking at her boyfriend, Stiles. She was a werecoyote, but she had not been bitten. She had been born this way and had lived in the woods as a coyote for years before the pack found her. 

Stiles stood there with his brown hair and light brown eyes framed by thick lashes. He was also Scott’s best friend who always seemed to have a joke or a quip up his sleeve which countered Scott’s serious nature. Stiles was the only normal human in the pack without any superpowers, as long as you don’t count the time last fall when a demon Nogitsune possessed his body. He had the knack for investigating and connecting the dots whenever a mystery needed to be solved. It was clear he took after his father, Sheriff Stilinski. 

Then there was herself, with long wavy strawberry blonde hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin. Lydia had also been bitten by Peter Hale after Scott, but she had not turned into a werewolf. Her supernatural form was a banshee. She had a psychic nature that revolved around death and her trances would lead her to bodies, or to write or draw something she didn’t remember doing. She envied the others for their alternate forms and strength that banshees unfortunately did not possess. She still struggled with her usefulness to the pack besides finding people who have been murdered, always too late to save anyone.

Scott and Stiles looked like they had grim news for the group.

Scott started, "Um, we have a problem." Well this sounded bad already.

"Has someone been killed?" piped up Kira.

"No," said Scott.

"Injured? Maimed? Eaten?" inquired Malia nonchalantly. 

"Well…" Scott began.

"Not in the traditional sense. Unless you mean a slightly related incident that happened last night." digressed Stiles.

Lydia looked at Scott, "What happened last night?"

"Uh...I kind of bit someone," Scott admitted.

"What!" Kira looked at Scott, her mouth falling open as Lydia gasped.

"I had no choice! He would've died if I hadn't," Scott protested.

Scott and Stiles filled the pack in on what had happened the night before where they encountered a wendigo. Wendigos are a supernatural form that can only feast on dead flesh. Lydia felt a chill run down her spine as she was grateful she didn’t turn into one of those after Peter’s bite. 

Scott had arrived at the hospital to find the wendigo, Sean, attacking his mother. Then Sean had dragged a freshman, Liam Dunbar, who happened to be on Scott and Stiles' lacrosse team, out onto the rooftop. Liam got thrown off the ledge, but held on by his fingertips. With the wendigo grabbing at Scott's arms, he was forced to bite Liam's arm to stop his fall. The wendigo was then killed by the man with no mouth who vanished into the night. 

"What did you do with Liam?" asked Lydia

Stiles jumped in and told how they had tried tying him up last night to tell him how serious this situation was, but Liam wouldn't listen and escaped on them.

Kira still gaped up at Scott and Malia looked almost bored at the story. Stiles shuffled his feet.

"It's a full moon tonight. We have to do something. We can't let him run loose around Beacon Hills!" Lydia exclaimed.

"We have been trying to get through to him all day, but he refuses to listen to us," said Stiles.

"We have to find a way to get him to the lake house tonight," Scott insisted.

"I'm not sharing my basement," Malia stuck out her lip stubbornly.

Lydia turned to Malia and raised an eyebrow, “Actually, it’s my basement. And my mom noticed how you tore it up last time.”

Stiles moved closer to Malia and put a hand on her back. “Alright, she’s still learning,” he shot back at Lydia defensively.

“We can use the boathouse for Liam. It’s got support beams,” Scott suggested. “We can chain him to one of them.”

“But how do we get him out to the lake house if he doesn’t trust us?” Kira chimed in.

“I say if it keeps him from murdering someone, we just chloroform the little bastard and throw him in the lake,” contended Stiles with a spark of humor in his eyes.

Malia raised her hand, “I’m in.” Lydia rolled her eyes.

Scott sighed, “We’re not killing or kidnapping him.”

Lydia turned to Scott, “Then let's be smarter. We tell him there’s a party and invite him.”

Scott started nodding as Stiles asked Lydia, “So, you’re going to ask out a freshman?”

Lydia scoffed, “No, I’m done with teenage boys. But if we’re playing a trick on someone, let’s use the trickster.” She smiled at Kira.

Kira’s eyes widened as everyone gazed in her direction. “Who me? No way. Not me.” She started shaking her head.

“Yes, you. You know what they call a female fox?” Lydia batted her eyes at Kira. “A vixen.”

“Me?” repeated Kira timidly.

“You can do it, Kira,” said Lydia with confidence. “Be a vixen.”

* * *

  
  
Lydia paced nervously across the lake house living room where Scott, Malia, and Stiles stood. It felt like they were setting up for an intervention where family and friends took turns telling an addict how much they loved and cared about them and how their habit was hurting them. Except, they barely knew Liam; but Scott had made it clear. Liam was a part of the pack now. Scott was a true alpha werewolf, and Liam was his first beta wolf through conventional means. They could not abandon Liam and have him live his life as an omega. Omega wolf lives tended to be shorter in the supernatural world when they had no pack to back them up and make them strong. 

Lydia stilled as they heard a car pull up the drive, car doors slamming, and the muffled voice of Kira outside as she led Liam up to the front door. Kira had told Liam she wanted to take him to a party, and of course the freshman couldn’t say no to the pretty junior girl in front of him. 

The front door clicked open and Kira pushed Liam inside. He blanched at the group standing in front of him and his eyes were immediately drawn to the straps and chains laying on the coffee table in the middle of the room. He turned back to Kira who shut the door, betrayal shining in his eyes.

“Sorry,” Kira said with her back against the front door in case Liam had any ideas about escaping. 

Liam turned slowly to the group and demanded, “What the hell is this?”

Stiles talked first, “Think of it like an intervention. You have a problem, Liam.”

Scott took a step towards Liam, “And we’re the only ones that can help.”

Scott explained as best as he could and this time Liam had nowhere to run and was forced to listen. It was obvious Liam was trying to process all of this information as Scott went through the list of supernatural beings standing in front of him. Lydia could tell by his smirking attitude that he still needed convincing. Tonight was going to be a long night.

Liam eventually jerked his chin towards the chains and straps on the coffee table in front of them. “Are those for me?”

“No, they’re for me,” Malia declared and her brown eyes turned bright blue as they pierced across the room at Liam.

Liam looked at the others nervously, “How’d you do that?”

“You’ll learn,” Scott explained. “But first you have to get through the full moon.”

“The moon’s already out,” Liam bellowed, his growing agitation with this conversation obvious.

“And you’re starting to feel something. Aren’t you?” Scott calmly said.

Liam started to sweat and raised his voice towards them. “I feel like I’m surrounded by a bunch of psychotic nutjobs. You guys are out of your FREAKING MINDS! I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU DID THAT EYE THING AND I DON’T CARE,” pointing at Malia. “ I’M WALKING OUT THAT DOOR RIGHT NOW AND IF ANY OF YOU TRY TO STOP ME, I SWEAR TO GOD, I’M GONNA…”

Liam stopped yelling and doubled over, his hands over his ears, groaning and swaying where he stood. 

Scott dared a step closer, “What’s wrong, Liam?”

Liam still pushed his hands over his ears, “You don’t hear that?”

Headlights shined into the front window as multiple cars began to pull up to the house.

Lydia spoke up to Liam, “Did you tell anyone about this?”

Liam was on his knees and looked up towards her voice, “My friend Mason.” He glared over at Kira who made for the windows, “You said it was a party.”

“And who did Mason invite?” asked Stiles.

Kira turned from peering out the front window and answered for Liam, “Everyone.”

Liam groaned and started scratching the wooden floors with elongated nails...werewolf nails.

Lydia panicked stepping towards him, “The floors! Get him off the floors!” Liam roared at her with sharpening canines and yellow eyes stopping her in her tracks.

“We need to get him to the boathouse now!” Scott yelled as he and Kira grabbed Liam and dragged him away. 

“Stiles…” Malia gasped and stumbled forward, catching herself on the coffee table. 

“Yeah?” Malia turned and growled at Stiles with glowing blue eyes and large canines. “Hey, Okay. Basement. Now!” Stiles helped Malia up and quickly gathered up the chains from the table.

Lydia stood there helpless. “What am I supposed to do with the hordes gathering outside the door?”

Stiles looked over at her, “Lydia, who throws the best parties at Beacon Hills?”

“What?” croaked Lydia. “Me, obviously.”

Stiles gestured towards her, “Okay, then throw a party.”

Lydia gaped after them as they raced out of the room towards the basement leaving her now alone in the living room with the crowd of teenagers gathering at her front door. She threw open the door to no less than 40 teenagers that had accumulated outside.

“Hey, are we in the right place?” said one boy.

“You know, for the party?” said another.

Lydia cringed inwardly and forced the words out of her mouth, “Absolutely.”

The teenagers cheered and started pouring into her mother’s lake house. She was in such big trouble now. Her mother was going to kill her.

* * *

Jordan had busied himself all day at his desk writing reports and filing paperwork when he got the phone call he had been waiting all day on. The caller informed him that his suspicions about the Walcott’s pantry and fridge were correct. Not much of any human food was found. He needed to relay this information to Sheriff Stilinski before he left for the day.

He glanced through the windows of Sheriff Stilinski’s office at the two men conversing inside. A dark-haired man with a familiar face had shown up to talk to Stilinski alone. Jordan couldn’t remember if he had seen this man before, but realized he had seen his photo before. The teenage kid who he and Deputy Haigh had picked up at the ruins of the Hale house recently. The one who had claimed he was Derek Hale. The kid was not Derek Hale, but this man was. Jordan wondered if Derek Hale was somehow involved in this case. 

Not knowing how long their conversation was going to last, Jordan decided to go into Stilinski’s office and give him the update. It wasn’t the most sensitive information of the ongoing case anyway.

Jordan opened the door to the Sheriff’s office just as Stilinski was asking Derek, “And who runs around with a tomahawk anyway?”

Jordan paused and dared to interject himself into this conversation he had just stumbled into. “I carried one for IED removal in Afghanistan. It’s military.” Jordan walked into the room and pointed at the small keyboard that the Sheriff was holding in his hand. “And so is that.”

Derek Hale looked at him with thick furrowed brows, “Do you know what it’s used for?”

Jordan didn’t answer as he took the keyboard from Stilinski, studying it and turning it over. “This one looks like it’s been modified,” he simply said.

Stilinski looked at Derek cryptically and Derek gave the Sheriff a slight nod. Jordan surmised it was an indication to include him in whatever conversation they had been having. Stilinski walked over the office door that Jordan had just come through and shut it, turning towards him before saying, “Show us.”

Jordan looked from the keyboard in his hand to the Sheriff, “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

Stilinski let out a breath and looked at Derek, another nod signaling to ‘go ahead’. “Jordan, this is Derek Hale. He had a visitor early this morning, or his uncle did, Peter Hale. The visitor was a man with no mouth. And he threw this tomahawk at Peter. Peter was able to wrench away that device off of the man’s hand before he escaped. Our mouthless killer was using the keyboard to do the talking for him.”

Jordan instantly knew how important these two pieces of evidence were. He looked at the keyboard again which was built off of a black glove for the wearer to strap around the forearm while wearing the glove. He saw an import on the underside of the keyboard and looked up at Stilinski. “There may be a hard drive in here that we can access. Can I connect this to your computer, Sheriff?”

“Go ahead, Parrish,” said Stilinski as Jordan ran the connector cable from the laptop to the device.

“First thing I will do is try to find an IP address to his personal computer,” said Jordan as he was already searching around files on the hard drive. Derek and Stilinski loomed behind him anxious for results. Lucky for them, their suspect hadn’t protected the files on here or encrypted them much to Jordan’s surprise. He must have been pretty confident that he wouldn’t be caught or this device wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.

“Okay, I think I got an IP address,” said Jordan finally.

The Sheriff leaned over his shoulder, “That means we can find him, right?”

“Definitely. Especially if…” An electronic whirring noise interrupted Jordan and all three men eyed the gloved contraption where the fingers had definitely just twitched. 

“What was that?” Derek looked startled as he stared at the glove.

Jordan looked back to the computer screen which had changed without any prompting of his own. A black messaging screen had popped up with a communication log loading. 

“I think I found a message,” said Jordan. “Does anyone recognize the handle ‘Benefactor’?”

The message from the Benefactor finished loading on the screen in front of them. “Money transferred.” it read.

“Money transferred. What does that mean?” asked Derek.

Stilinski leaned back and straightened with realization, “That means this guy is not just a killer.” Jordan and Derek looked up at his grim face. “He’s an assassin.”

Jordan’s mind reeled. An assassin? Someone had hired this guy to kill the Walcott family, but why go after the Hales as well? There was no way Derek and Peter Hale were cannibals too...right? He didn’t know much about the Hales other than their house burned down years ago, killing some family members as well. How were they mixed up in an assassin’s plot? There had to be a connection somehow. Jordan thought he would begin some digging first thing tomorrow when his shift began. Right now, he needed to get home and get some rest. The last 48 hours had been exhausting. Yes, tomorrow he would start looking into the Hales.

* * *

  
  


Things had gotten too out of control too fast. The lake house was now in danger of being trashed by 50 teenagers and Lydia found herself running around the place trying to prevent mini disasters from happening to the carpets, furniture, and artifacts sitting on tables and shelves in every room. Meanwhile a keg had arrived, delivery man standing there with his hand out for payment, expensive wine was being opened, and now Lydia was chasing after a teenager who had wandered upstairs which was definitely off-limits. 

The dark-skinned boy wandered into a room with only a few furnishings compared to its large size. An orange chair and ottoman splashed some color against the pristine white carpet and white walls. A small curio cabinet sat next to a simple desk with a typewriter. A shelf held a couple nick nacks in the far corner and a record player was placed in the middle of the adjoining wall. 

Lydia approached him fuming, “What are you doing up here? The party’s downstairs.”

The boy told her, “I was looking for Liam.”

Lydia huffed. This must be Liam’s friend Mason who had invited all these people and gotten her into this mess. “Sorry, but missing freshmen are a little low on my priority list.” She moved around him as she spied red wine glasses that had been set down in this room. 

“But not so low that you know he’s a freshman?” Mason retorted.

Lydia turned back to him, glasses in hand, and said with a resigned sigh, “I might’ve seen your friend. Downstairs.” She grabbed Mason’s arm to lead him out with her, but dropped the glasses that were in her hands. 

Lydia gasped as they hit the white carpet, spilling their contents. “Oh my God, the carpet! No, God. No!” She hastily tried to soak up the red wine with her sweater.

The teenage boy leaned down and spoke with a reassuring voice, “It’s okay, it’ll come out. I’m sorry. Was it valuable?”

Lydia choked back hasty tears, “No. That’s the problem. Nothing in here is valuable.” She sat up and tried to breathe normally. She looked at the boy next to her trying to make him understand, “We just put the house on the market. It was supposed to be left without a scratch. It has to be in perfect condition. We need every penny we can get out of this place” She stifled a sob as she unloaded her family’s financial woes onto this poor teenager who probably didn’t give one damn about any of this.

“Okay, let me go get some club soda and salt.” He looked at her with kind brown eyes. “Lydia, it’ll come out. It will.”

She simply nodded with her tear-streaked face and watched him leave the room. She remained on her knees trying to get a grip on her emotions before he came back. Mason closed the door behind him and all sound came to a screeching stop. Lydia stared at the door, slowly rose to her feet, and opened it. Loud music thumping and the conversation noise from the party raging downstairs seemed to hit her ears all at once. Then she closed the door again and...nothing. She could hear nothing. She looked around the almost bare room and asked herself out loud, “Soundproof?”

Lydia walked around the room looking at the few items adorning this room. She stared at the record player and felt an urging to turn it on. She flipped a couple switches and placed the stylus on the record that had already been loaded onto the player. 

No music filled the air, but that sense of dread immediately filled her chest. That banshee intuition that never quit finding her again and again. Something was wrong, something was happening. She heard faraway screams, voices carried whispers to her ears, and faces appeared through the wall. Distorted faces trying to claw their way into the room past the drywall. 

_The code. The key. The code. The key._

The words repeated across her mind that only her banshee senses could hear. She stood shock still at the sounds and faces before her and found her mind slipping away to another time and another place. 

_It was a dark chilly night. The sounds of steel clashing, slicing flesh echoed off the concrete. Arrows flew from her fingertips as fast as she could aim true at the dark, masked figures attacking them. One of them slashed across the chest of Isaac, the werewolf trying to keep the Oni away from her. He roared in pain as the blood poured from the open wound. She pulled an arrow with a silver tip that she had forged herself from her quiver and aimed. She released a steady breath as she released the arrow that found its mark, right in the Oni’s heart._

_There was no blood, only green light. The light’s rays shining bright, piercing the darkness like the sun. Then the Oni exploded, rocking the ground they all stood on, only a cloud of black mist left that dissipated into the night. A feeling of triumph overwhelmed her as she realized she had killed one of the Oni, invincible demons who were enslaved by the Nogitsune. No one had ever managed it in all of history. But her triumph was short lived, and she had barely turned when she felt the katana blade pierce through her abdomen to the other side._

_A scream from a distance reached her ears, “ALLISON!”_

_The girl lay dying, in Scott McCall’s arms. The pain ebbed away to nothing as a calmness washed over her and still the screams echoed, “ALLISON!”_

_The code. The key. The code. The key._

Lydia heard a voice calling her name, louder and louder. Her consciousness slammed back into her body as she turned to the sound. Kira was in the room standing next to her staring at the record player and it’s silent static song. 

Kira looked at her knowingly, “What do you hear?”

Lydia still dazed answered, “The key. The key to break the code.”

Lydia sent Kira running for her laptop, hopefully still intact from the throng of party goers downstairs. She took a deep breath trying to contain her turmoil of emotions. Allison’s death had been hard for her to move past. She was not physically there when Allison died, but she had felt it. As a banshee, she had known moments before it happened. She was there mentally or spiritually, whatever you wanted to call it. The memory had played out like she was in Allison’s body. In the last 5 minutes, she had experienced everything Allison had felt and done that night and she had felt the death blow to Allison’s body. Reliving it now opened the wound again that had been desperately trying to heal. Like an unexpected punch in the gut.

Lydia inhaled again deeply trying to hold the tears back that threatened for the second time that night. She had to keep herself together right now. This was important. 

Kira returned with her laptop and Lydia loaded the code that required a cypher key to translate it. She held her breath and her fingers trembled as she typed in the letters ALLISON and hit enter.

Immediately the code began to transcribe into English words. No, not English words. Names. A list of names each with a number next to it. Her blood ran cold when she saw what names were listed and she quickly deduced why.

Kira leaned over Lydia’s shoulder at the list. “What is this?”

“It’s a list of supernaturals in Beacon Hills.” Lydia swallowed even though her throat had gone dry. “It’s a deadpool. And we’re all on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for the delay in getting this chapter posted. I have had multiple family tragedies hit in the last few weeks and it has been hard to find the time and positive energy to write.


	3. Between Banshees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia has an embarrassing run in with deputy Jordan while she tries desperately to figure out the second cypher key. Another banshee may have the information that the pack needs to find out who is next on the deadpool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: **New Scene not in the Show!** I got really excited writing this chapter because I start getting to add my own scenes and little twists. The show already sets up why Lydia would be drawn to Jordan right? Another reason I think they would've been perfect together. I haven't added too much attraction or pining yet, but I promise you it's coming! It is definitely a slow burn romance for sure which I'll admit are my favorite. Hope y'all are enjoying the story being told from another perspective because I certainly am!

Jordan was thankful for the chilly air at dawn as he was finishing his 10 mile run. It had been days since he had gotten in a good run because of how hectic work had been lately. Exhilarated and ready to gear up for work, he rounded the street corner near his driveway that led up to the duplex he was renting. It wasn’t much, but after living in close quarters in the military for 4 years, it was nice to have a place of his own. 

Jordan slowed suddenly as he spied someone near his front door. Who would be knocking on his door at 7 in the morning? He was cautious as he drew closer, trying to steady his breath. He saw a girl turning the knob to no avail, her bright red skirt and swept-up strawberry blonde hair standing out against the faded paint and cracked pavement of this drab part of town. 

“Lydia?” Jordan walked slowly up the front path behind her.

She froze, staring at the closed door, hand still on the doorknob.

“Lydia?” repeated Jordan. “What are you doing here?”

She finally turned to face him, her eyes had that same dazed look to them that he had seen before at the Walcott’s house. “I’m sorry. This...this is your place?”

“Yes,” responded Jordan, brows furrowing with concern. “Are you alright? Do you need help?” 

“Um, no...I,” Lydia seemed flustered and a flush crept up her cheeks before she blurted, “I sleepwalk sometimes and…” She looked around as if to try to identify her surroundings. “I just ended up here I guess.”

Jordan flashed her a smile trying to lighten her mood. “Well, if you’re looking for a dead body there’s none here, I can promise you that.”

But Lydia blanched and looked at his door nervously, “Of...of course. I would never accuse you…”

“Why don’t you come in and take a look around real quick, put your mind at ease.” Jordan stepped past her and unlocked the door. Before she could respond, he was waving her inside. “You’ll just have to excuse the mess, haven’t had much time off of work lately to tidy up.”

Lydia hesitated but stepped inside as Jordan cringed at the dirty dishes in the sink, empty coffee mugs on the table, and yesterday’s clothes hanging over the couch. Her eyes scanned the living room crammed with exercise equipment wherever Jordan could find space. He saw her glance toward the open door to his bedroom where his queen sized bed lay rumpled and unmade. Jordan smiled at her again, “See, no one dead here.” 

“Well, how do I know you don’t have any hidden panels that lead down some dark hallway to a hidden dungeon or something like that.” She smiled back at him, batting away a flyaway strand of hair that had escaped her loose updo that she had finished off with a speckled cloth headband.

Jordan laughed and walked into the small kitchen to turn on the coffee maker. “Listen, I have to start getting ready for work, but do you want any coffee before you leave?”

Lydia blushed again, “No, no I’m good thank you. Look, I’m really sorry for this. I was getting ready for school and the next thing I know I’m at your door. I didn’t even know where you live. I just...be careful okay? I don’t know how to put this, but bad things tend to happen when people...end up in my visions.”

“So you are psychic?” Jordan raised an accusatory brow.

Lydia looked away from him, “Something like that. Just promise me you’ll be careful. Watch your back.” She looked back up at him with those big hazel eyes and he could just make out the green flecks spattered within, brought out by the green cardigan sweater she was wearing.

“I will Lydia, I promise.” Jordan looked at her wondering if she had really sensed anything bad about to happen to him. He still didn’t know what to make of her unique affliction. How real was it? But he was a good judge of character, and there was nothing about her that seemed like she was lying or had ulterior motives in the couple times he had interacted with her.  _ As opposed to everyone else in this town lately _ , he thought to himself.

Lydia released a heavy breath, “Well, I have to get going to school. Sorry again for my disruption of your morning.”

“It’s really fine, Lydia,” Jordan reassured her. He walked over to the table in the living room and picked up a business card. “Here, take my card. My office and cell number is on there. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call okay?”

Lydia took the card and nodded at him, “I will. Thanks, Officer Parrish.”

“Jordan,” he corrected her as he walked to the front door to open it for her.

“Thanks, Jordan,” Lydia gave him a half smile before she walked out the door. 

Jordan found himself still grinning as he poured himself a cup of hot coffee, then he realized he should’ve offered to drive her home. If she really didn’t remember how she had gotten here...had she walked all the way here from wherever she lived? What if she didn’t recognize this part of town? He kicked himself for how inconsiderate he had just been. But when he opened the front door to see if he could see where she went, she had already gone. 

* * *

Lydia arrived at school that morning still mortified from her earlier encounter with Jordan. He must think by now that she is completely deranged and should probably be locked up in Eichen House, where people with severe mental difficulties are admitted and taken care of. Although most people didn't know Eichen also served as a prison for dangerous supernatural creatures. A secret ward where mountain ash coated the cells and walls to keep them in, and certain ones out. 

It also didn’t help that Jordan had said he’d heard stories about her before, so he was probably aware of her little escapade from the hospital last year and how she had tumbled out of the woods two days later naked as the day she was born. She cringed as she felt her cheeks burning again. That bit of juicy gossip had made its way around most of the town like wildfire shortly afterwards and she had already endured the chide remarks or looks of pity from the town residents over that incident, so why should she be so bothered about it now?

She pushed those thoughts away as Malia came bounding up to her before their first class, her untamed brunette waves bouncing around her youthful and eager face.

“Hey Lydia, Kira and I had an idea to try something different for you to figure out the next key for the deadpool!” She said with breathless exhilaration.

“A little lower next time, Malia. Everyone can hear you,” shushed Lydia, her eyes discreetly looking around for any eavesdroppers. 

Malia winced and hushed voice, “Sorry!”

Once she had uncovered the first part of the deadpool, the pack realized that at least 5 out of the 12 names on the list were already dead. The assassin with no mouth had taken out an entire family of wendigos; but he was now dead thanks to Peter Hale. Another assassin had killed a werewolf named Demarco the night of the lake house party. Then a werewolf named Carrie had turned up dead a few days ago making the total known dead supernaturals on the list now 6. Scott and Stiles were convinced this new assassin was a student at Beacon Hills, so they were all on edge. Lydia, Scott, and Kira were all on the part of the deadpool Lydia had cracked at the lake house. Derek Hale was as well, born a werewolf to Tatiana Hale, Peter’s sister. 

But there were still two more parts to the code yet to be transcribed, each requiring another cypher key. The theory behind the numbers located beside each name on the list was the price paid out for each kill. Scott and Stiles told them that the numbers would most likely total 117 million, which was the exact amount of money that had been stolen from Peter Hale’s family vault less than a month ago. Which meant that Lydia was worth 20 million dollars dead.

“So anyway, during lunch can you meet me in the art room? We think maybe if you started drawing then you could write or draw what we need to know about the second key for the cypher code. Like you did with the nemeton,” Malia continued.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I guess we can try,” Lydia sighed. She was exhausted from trying to figure out the next key word to the second part of the code. For the last week and a half she had tried everything she could think of. Malia and Kira had waited patiently for hours as Lydia listened to the blank record on the record player at the lake house that had given Lydia the first word: ALLISON. The voices inside her head had talked to her immediately the first time and the vision of Allison’s death had come to her so easily without thought or willpower to make it happen. But now the voices were silent and the visions were naught. She tried focusing, meditating, she spent hours obsessing over the cypher code until she wanted to rip out her hair in frustration; but nothing came. She could feel the others’ disappointment, even though they didn’t blame her. There were so few things in the pack that she could help with. She couldn’t sense or track other supernatural creatures like the others, and she surely wasn’t much help in a fight with no super strength or claws. This was the one thing she could help with and she knew that she was letting the pack down as each day slipped by and more supernaturals were being hunted and killed by assassins with their hands on the deadpool. She felt that heavy weight on her shoulders each time a pack member reminded her that they were confident she would uncover the second keyword.

The whole morning Lydia dreaded lunch where she would meet up with Malia in the empty art room. She was losing hope after each time she tried to figure out what the next key was. But she told herself she would give it one more try. So she found herself staring at a large blank piece of drawing paper set on an easel before noon, drawing pencil in hand. 

Lydia tried to empty her mind of the whirlwind of thoughts and worries that had been troubling her and the pressure of everyone relying on her to get this right. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate as she put the pencil to the paper. But there was breathing in her ear, a shoulder pressing on the back of her own, and a brown-eyed stare boring into the side of her head.

“Please stop hovering,” Lydia huffed at Malia, who was showing no concern over personal space. 

Malia scrunched her face, “I’m not hovering. I’m...waiting. Draw something. Write something. We need to know who else is on that list.”

Lydia could barely hold in her frustrated temper at this point, “You mean,  _ you _ need to know if you’re on the list.”

Malia frowned at Lydia, “If someone’s coming to take my head off, then yeah, I’d like to know.”

“Can you please just sit down?” Lydia asked through gritted teeth. “You’re making me nervous.”

To Lydia’s relief, Malia stepped back and found a chair to wait in. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Lydia didn’t blame her for being so anxious. Everyone was tense about who else was on the list, although they suspected it would be all of them eventually, except for Stiles who was as human as they come. With half the list already dead and two unaccounted for, that was enough to make anyone afraid. That was part of the reason Lydia had thrown herself into this project so much. If she focused on only finding the remaining cypher keys, then she wouldn’t have time to stop and think too much about the fact that assassins were out there right now thinking of ways to kill her and her friends. She could not sink into that kind of paralyzing fear right now. 

Lydia let out a long slow breath and put her pencil back onto the paper. She closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drain out of her mind like she had practiced over and over, willing something to show itself. 

“Lydia.”

Lydia’s pencil jerked as she opened her eyes. “What?” Her irritation again bubbling to the surface as she turned to Malia. “Oh my God, what?” 

Malia looked up from an open book she had been browsing though while she waited. She pushed the book towards Lydia, “Maybe we need help. From another banshee.”

Lydia looked down at the book Malia was referring to. An old sketch of a screaming woman looked desperately up from the confines of its pages. 

“Meredith,” breathed Lydia. Meredith was a banshee at Eichen House who had helped the pack find Lydia after she had been taken by Stiles. Well, not the real Stiles, the evil Stiles. The Nogitsune Stiles. _ Maybe she can find the answer that I cannot see,  _ she wondered.

Lydia pulled out her phone and called Eichen House as Malia flipped through the old book on mythological creatures. The bell rang over the loudspeakers in every room, signaling the end of lunch period. Lydia and Malia stood and exited the art room to walk downstairs to their lockers. 

On the way, Lydia hung up the phone and turned to Malia, “Eichen House says Meredith cannot have any visitors without permission from a family member.”

“That’s not going to be easy since her whole family is dead.”

“Perfect!” sarcasm dripped heavy from Lydia’s lips.  _ We just can’t catch a break _ .

“Okay, maybe we go back to the art room. Or the music room,” Malia suggested.

Lydia turned on her in the middle of the hallway, “I’m not plucking piano strings for two hours waiting for some supernatural inspiration!”

“Fine. What else do banshees do?” Malia just would not give it up and Lydia could feel her temper starting to rise again.

“You think I know?” scoffed Lydia. “I can’t just turn this on. I’m not like you guys. I don’t have claws, or glowing eyes, or super senses. I just have voices in my head.” 

Lydia could feel tears beginning to prick her eyes and it was Malia’s turn to look around for anybody that might be nearby listening to Lydia’s outburst. Lydia turned and walked away before Malia could force another stupid suggestion on her and cause her to lash out again.

* * *

A black sky sprinkled with winter stars had settled in over Beacon Hills as Jordan was maneuvering his truck along his usual patrol route. He had worked on completing all of his paperwork and other tedious deskwork this morning so that he would have plenty of time to patrol. Sheriff Stilinski had him looking into two names that he believed were also in danger of being assassinated: Elias Town and Kayleen Bettcher. But so far he had hit dead ends on their current whereabouts.

The assassin they had been fiercely searching for with no mouth, dubbed The Mute, had ended up dead at the high school 10 days ago. So the Sheriff had encouraged Jordan to put aside the Walcott case and focus on finding these two unknown figures in town. He had grown frustrated with his boss’ seemingly lack of interest in the bodies he found at the Walcott’s and the theory of cannibalism that was lurking beneath the surface. Regardless, Jordan was not in charge and had no control over which cases took priority. Meanwhile, there had been two more deaths in the past two weeks. The Sheriff divulged to Jordan that another couple of assassins were out there killing people. What he wouldn’t say was why or how he knew who might be next. 

Despite his misgivings, Jordan refused to complain and appreciated that the Sheriff did rely on him for some important things; like when he had been called to the school to dismantle a claymore bomb that the Mute had left for the Sheriff to find. Jordan had been miffed that he had not been called in sooner when he found out Sheriff Stilinski and Derek Hale of all people had faced the Mute alone with no backup. He just did not understand why he couldn’t be told more about what was going on in this strange town. Maybe he just needed a few more months here to win the Sheriff’s trust to be let into the inner circle of secrets people seemed to be whispering behind closed doors around here. So in the meantime, he strived to always make himself available to help out when he was needed and show that he was a loyal and reliable deputy in this county. That was all he could do for now. 

Jordan glanced down at the clock in his patrol truck to see it was almost 7pm. One more hour of patrol, then he would head back to the station to clock out before he went home. As his eyes flicked back up to the road, he slammed on his brakes just in time to avoid hitting a person who had seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He put the truck in park and tried to calm his wildly beating heart back to normal as he opened his door and hopped out. 

A girl stood there, dressed in loose clothing, illuminated by his headlights on the dark road. Her hair was combed into an afro and he noticed her wide brown eyes held a familiar dazed look in them. 

“Hi there, I’m from the Sheriff’s department. Do you need some help ma’am?” he called out to her.

She only stared at him, no answer leaving her lips.

Jordan stepped closer, “Can I get your name or where you are headed tonight?”

“Highschool...looking for Lydia,” she finally spoke.

Jordan was taken aback. What are the odds that this girl reminded him of his encounters with the mysterious psychic Lydia Martin, and then it ends up that she is searching for her. If they were thinking of the same Lydia. Jordan didn’t think that name was too popular around here.

“Are you searching for Lydia Martin?” he asked.

“Yes, I need to get to the highschool. I need to talk to Lydia,” the stranger said before she suddenly started walking the direction he had just come from. 

“Oh, wait! The school is almost 15 miles from here, were you planning on walking the whole way there?” he called after her.

She didn’t turn back towards him but just said again, “I need to find Lydia.”

Jordan walked fast to catch up with the girl. “How about I give you a lift and we can find Lydia together.”

She stopped and stared at him before saying hesitantly, “Okay.”

Jordan led her to the passenger side of his patrol truck and opened the door for her, hastily moving some papers in the passenger seat before she sat down. He climbed in the driver’s seat and turned the truck around to head back to the station. 

As he drove, she never broke her forward stare out the windshield, her posture rigid and her hands tightly wound together. Jordan smiled and tried to make conversation, “So where are you coming from tonight? How did you end up out here in the middle of the road?”

No answer.

He tried again, “Could you tell me your name?”

“Lydia…” was all she said.

Jordan glanced at her, “Is your name Lydia too?”

“I need to find Lydia”

Resigned, Jordan drove the rest of the way to the station in silence. 

Once at the Sheriff’s station, he caught Sheriff Stilinski on his way out for the night. 

“Sheriff, I know you’re in a hurry, but I was out on patrol and I found someone walking from the coast to the High School.”

“That’s gotta be at least 15 miles.” Stilinski commented. 

“She was pretty determined,” the Sheriff followed Jordan’s gaze behind him to the girl he had picked up in the road.

“I’m looking for Lydia,” she told Sheriff Stilinski.

The Sheriff motioned for the girl to come into his office as he said, “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in here right now and I can see about calling Lydia, okay?”

The girl walked slowly into the Sheriff’s office and he had her have a seat on the faux leather couch across the room from the desk. Sheriff Stilinski told the girl to wait there and stepped back outside his office shutting the door. 

He walked over to Jordan and spoke in a hushed tone, “That girl is Meredith Walker. She is a patient at Eichen House. I have no idea how she got out, but I am going to have to call them and let them know one of their patients is missing.”

“Why would she be asking for Lydia? Does she know her?” asked Jordan.

“Actually, I don’t even know if she’s ever met Lydia before,” the Sheriff thought for a moment. “Why don’t you finish up any of your reports you need done before you go home, Parrish. I’ll deal with this.”

Jordan recognized the dismissal from the situation. He was getting used to it, so without protest he settled himself behind his desk to finish up his patrol report before he clocked out for the night.

Ten minutes later, Jordan looked up, surprised to see the Sheriff leading Lydia and a brunette girl into his office where Meredith was. Jordan figured Stilinski’s first responsibility would be to call Eichen House to come pick her up, but it seemed he was just as curious as Jordan was to know what Meredith wanted to talk to Lydia about. 

Jordan couldn’t contain his curiosity as he approached Sheriff Stilinski, Lydia and the other girl already inside his office. “You called Lydia,” almost a question.

The Sheriff looked at Jordan cryptically, “Yeah.”

Jordan couldn’t help himself, “Because Meredith asked for her, or because of the other thing?”

Stilinski squinted his eyes at Jordan, “What other thing?”

“You know,” Jordan looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “The psychic thing.”

The Sheriff looked surprised, “You think Lydia’s psychic?”

“Do you?” asked Jordan.

“No, I do not. I think that she is, uh...intuitive,” 

“That’s what they used to call psychics,” said Jordan. “Intuitionists.”

The Sheriff eyed him for a moment, “Yeah, and I used to call myself a rational human being. Get in here and shut the door.” He motioned Jordan inside. 

* * *

Lydia didn’t look toward Jordan as he moved across the room, she shoved down the feeling of awkwardness at the thought of their encounter earlier this morning. Instead she focused on the girl sitting on the couch in front of her. So this was the other banshee in Beacon Hills. She could not look any more different from Lydia if she had tried. 

“Ask what you need to ask,” she heard Stilinski say.

Lydia had thought about this on the drive over here. Stiles had said that Meredith had a habit of answering phones with no one on the other line. So maybe that was Meredith’s way of accessing her banshee powers. Lydia held out her cellphone towards Meredith who looked befuddled as she took it from her hesitantly.

“Meredith, aren’t you going to answer it?” Lydia asked, to everyone else’s confusion as the phone was clearly silent.

Meredith slowly stood up from her seat to whisper into Lydia’s ear, “It’s not ringing.” She gave Lydia a sympathetic look as she sat back down which caused Lydia to grimace, knowing she had just made herself look like a fool in front of everyone, and Jordan...again. 

Lydia took a deep breath and knelt in front of Meredith on the couch, trying to summon every ounce of patience she had left in this terribly long frustrating day. “Meredith, you came here to help us, remember?”

“You called me,” Meredith responded like Lydia should know that bit of information.

“What do you mean I called you?” Lydia asked.

“I heard you.” 

Lydia realized that she had uttered Meredith’s name earlier that afternoon in the art room with Malia. She wondered if that’s what Meredith had heard to have her escape from Eichan and demand to speak to her. Being a banshee, she understood that it’s entirely possible to hear someone’s voice from another place. Did that mean Lydia was close to dying or was there a banshee connection between them that Lydia had been unaware of until now? Considering Lydia was worth 20 million dollars dead would explain the former. She felt a spasm of fear run through her that she was careful to hide on her face. She had been avoiding dealing with her name being on the first part of the deadpool as much as possible. She could not fall down that rabbit hole right now. 

Before Lydia could respond, Jordan interjected “Meredith, can I ask you a question?” He stepped forward and knelt in front of the couch, his green eyes fixed on Meredith. Meredith sat up straighter and smiled at him, looking flattered that he would want to ask anything of her. 

“When you need help, when you need to find something, is there someone you reach out to? Maybe someone you call?” he suggested it so casually. Lydia tried not to stare at him, but she could not help admiring his gentle demeanor and kind eyes that never left Meredith’s face. She caught herself admiring other features of his as well and quickly forced her attention back to the matter at hand before more embarrassment could show on her face.

“It depends. Different people for different things.” Meredith was saying.

“So maybe there’s a number that can help us? Someone we can call?” He asked her. 

“Yes,” she responded simply.

“Would you be ok telling us?”

“Yes,” Meredith squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to remember something hard. “It’s 2...4, 3, 6.” Hope flickered in Lydia as she unlocked her phone and began dialing the numbers. But Meredith stopped there, opening her eyes and looking proud that she could help out as Jordan stood back up.

“Mer, we need a few more numbers,” Malia spoke up for the first time. 

“No,” Meredith stated. “That’s the number.”

“Phone numbers are 10 digits,” said Malia.

“That’s the number,” Meredith repeated.

“Meredith! Phone numbers always have 10 digits,” said Lydia trying to make her understand.

But Meredith only said, “That’s the number.”

“Meredith!” Lydia was losing her patience as she knew time was running out. Sheriff Stilinski had told her that they’d only have 15 minutes to get whatever information they could out of Meredith before Eichen House would arrive to bring her back. That 15 minutes was up.

“Hey...hey. I think that’s the best we’re going to get,” Sheriff Stilinski said, putting a hand on Lydia’s shoulder, reminding her that time was up.

Lydia stood and looked at the Sheriff, her eyes pleading, “No. There has to be more,” She swung back around, standing over Meredith on the couch. “What’s the rest of it, Meredith, hmm?” But Meredith was just shaking her head. “JUST CONCENTRATE!” Lydia yelled, her temper had finally boiled over the surface. 

“But that’s...that’s...that’s the number. That’s the number.” 

Sheriff Stilinski moved Lydia back and stood in front of Meredith, “It’s ok, sweetheart. We’re going to get you…”

“THAT’S THE NUMBER!” Meredith shrieked up the Sheriff as she stood, brushing off his soothing hand.

“Okay, that’s enough,” asserted Sheriff Stilinski. “Everyone’s going to calm down now. And as far as questions, we are done here,” his gaze directed at Lydia. 

Lydia pushed her palm to her forehead as she felt a headache blooming from in between her eyes. “I’m sorry, Meredith. I’m sorry,” she looked dolefully over towards Meredith before leaving the Sheriff’s office, tears pricking her eyes.

A few minutes later, Lydia was seated in the office across the hall that Jordan had led Lydia and Malia to wait until after Eichen House came for Meredith. She glanced out the window to see the Sheriff talking to Meredith as Jordan slid his winter jacket across her shoulders. Jordan had shown such kindness and patience with Meredith and Lydia hadn’t been able to muster up one ounce of it in the last 20 minutes, or all day really. And this was towards someone of her own kind of supernatural. Shame hit her mixed with dread that after all she had tried in the last 10 days, they still had nothing. She couldn’t think of anything else to try.

“Lydia…” Malia’s voice cut across her exhausted thoughts. “What if it’s like algebra?”

Lydia looked up at Malia standing over the desk. “What do you mean?”

“What if the numbers are actually letters?” Malia turned the corded office phone towards Lydia and pointed at the groups of small letters on each numbered button. 

A shot of adrenaline coursed through her with Malia’s discovery.  _ Of course, it was so simple!  _ Lydia reached across the desk for a notepad and pen. She wrote out the letters in their groups corresponding to the numbers that Meredith had told them.

ABC GHI DEF MNO

She saw the answer jump off the page without hesitation. “Oh god…” she gasped as she began circling the letters A,I,D,E, and N. Aiden, another dead person who had been close to her. Aiden was a werewolf whom she had dated whose loyalties had lied with a sinister alpha pack bent on claiming Scott McCall for their own. At first, Aiden had just been a handsome prize to be won; but later, she had developed real feelings for him. Maybe not as deep as her feelings for Jackson had been, her first love. But Aiden had proved himself a good man in the end, defending their pack from the Oni, and died for it, only one day after Allison had done the same. The grief over losing both of them had been too much to bear the following days. Lydia felt the searing pain of that wound resurface.

But Lydia shoved it down, pulling out her laptop from her bookbag and opened the screen to the second part of the code. She held her breath as she typed in the name into the cypher key as Malia looked closely over her shoulder. She paused and glanced at Malia before hitting enter. 

The code transcribed and more names with numbers next to them appeared, some familiar and some not. Allison’s aunt, Kate Argent, was listed along with Kira’s mother, also a kitsune like her daughter; but those names were expected as they both were already known supernaturals. What was unexpected was the last name that appeared on this list, another familiar name. 

Lydia heard Malia breathe a sigh of relief that her name had not appeared on the deadpool and she started texting Stiles the list of names immediately. Malia’s phone rang and she stepped out of the office to answer it, leaving Lydia alone. 

Lydia sat there staring at the last name, willing it to make sense to her. It can’t be...someone would’ve known...been able to sense it. She swallowed, what if she had just uncovered a giant scheme or trick? What if this person was hiding from the pack with bad intentions?

She jumped as Jordan opened the office door and she slammed the laptop closed so he wouldn’t see what she had been looking at. As far as she knew, Jordan wasn’t aware of the deadpool at all, the only person here that did was the Sheriff when Stiles and Scott had revealed it to him last week. She wondered if he understood the conversation with Meredith at all or if he had been confused the whole time. If he had been, he didn’t show it and he didn’t ask about it now.

“Sorry,” after seeing he had startled her. “I was just seeing if you guys were okay. Do you need a ride home?”

Her heart was beating wildly within her chest but she kept her face composed, “Uh...no. We’ll be fine.”

Jordan nodded at her and closed the door. Lydia watched him walk away before she lifted the screen again to look at the name again: JORDAN PARRISH 5.


	4. The Deadpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jordan discovers some shocking news and Lydia is desperate to uncover the third cypher key to unlock the rest of the deadpool.

Jordan tightened the handcuffs on the dark haired girl as she struggled against him. He helped her stand, her eyes glaring at him full of venom and hatred. He couldn’t believe he was having to arrest a teenage girl on murder charges. This suspect, Violet, had killed at least two people and attacked Scott McCall and another lacrosse player in the highschool locker room. Scott had walked in on her attacking Brett Talbot, and she had turned on him with a thermo-cut wire that had been used to sever body parts in the last two murders. 

A teenage girl, willing to take innocent lives for, supposedly, a big payday. Jordan rarely was face to face with such evil. It was unusual for anger to course through Jordan as it did now. One reason he made a good deputy was that he was able to keep his emotions in check. But today was a struggle knowing how cold this girl was inside and the horrific things she had done.

As Jordan strong-armed her down the school hallway, Violet glanced over at his nameplate on his chest. “Parrish?” she questioned him. “As in Jordan Parrish?”

Jordan gave her a harsh look, “Deputy Parrish.” 

As he led her towards the exit, he heard a man’s voice call after him, “Parrish, hold up!”

Jordan turned himself and Violet around to face a tall man approaching with an air of authority. His title was Agent McCall, from the FBI. This was the expert that the Sheriff had mentioned back when they were in the thick of the Walcott’s murder case, before the knowledge of multiple assassins running around Beacon Hills. He also happened to be Scott McCall’s estranged father. 

“Thermo-cut wire is a very unusual weapon, Violet.” Agent McCall loomed over the suspect. “Now, we’ve got a file at the Bureau on something similar. Used in over a dozen murders.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Violet sneered up at him. “I just go to school here.”

“Maybe we should call your parents then.” Violet’s smirk was wiped off her face as McCall continued, “Oh no, that’s right. You don’t have any parents. That’s why they call you the Orphans.”

Anger flashed across her face and Jordan steered her through the school doors outside towards a waiting police car.

Violet dug in her heels before Jordan could get her into the backseat of Deputy Haigh’s car.

Jordan held his grip as she tried to yank away from him, “I don’t prefer to be rough with you, Violet. Now are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?”

“Or what? You’ll use your claws on me?” she spat at him.

_ Claws? _ That’s an odd thing to say to him. But Jordan pushed Violet into the backseat of the car and slammed the door without further comment. If Violet was connected to over a dozen murders, Jordan wondered if she would be tried as an adult and never see the light of day again. If she truly was guilty, he hoped so.

* * *

“I think we should tell him,” said Lydia, her mouth firmly set as she paced the length of Stiles’ bedroom.

“You’re the one who first suggested he might not be trustworthy. Maybe he’s hiding it from all of us for a reason. How is it that Scott or anybody else hasn’t been able to sense something off about him?” demanded Stiles.

“I don’t know, but there are two possibilities. One, he is hiding his supernatural powers from all of us and we have yet to find out why; or two, he has no idea that he is...special. Either way, shouldn’t he be told that assassins are out there, probably planning how to murder him? What if someone goes after him and he can’t even prepare for it. His death would be on us!” exclaimed Lydia.

How could someone be a supernatural and not be aware of it?” implored Stiles.

Lydia stopped pacing and stared out the window for a moment. “It took me awhile to get used to my...abilities and I couldn’t figure out why I was doing the things I was doing.”

“If he is hiding his true nature, he could be planning something bad.” Stiles’ was being overly cautious and he had every right to be so. Just last year, no one could have predicted their own biology teacher would turn on them all, almost killing Lydia. Not one of the pack had sensed the darach, a druid gone bad, stirring within her, and the mayhem of murders caused by her hand. But if Jordan was anything like the darach, someone should hand him an Oscar.

Lydia paused, “The nemeton...Stiles, he was drawn here by the nemeton.” She turned her wide hazel eyes to Stiles’, “That has to be why he is here. Not because of us.” She took the paper with the deadpool printed out from Stiles’ hands. “We have to tell him. We can gauge his reaction and see if he knows why he is on this list.”

“Why are you so insistent on him knowing? This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’s, I don’t know, incredibly good looking for a cop, would it?” Stiles scrutinized her.

Lydia almost laughed, “Really Stiles? ‘Incredibly good-looking?’ I had no idea you thought of Parrish in that way?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Very funny, Lydia. You’re the one with the history of relationships with ‘pretty boys’."

Lydia’s cheeks burned, “That...that was the old me.” She averted her gaze at the thoughts of her past treatment of Jackson and Aiden. They weren’t exactly healthy non-toxic relationships. Looking back she knew she had used both of them at times. She had dated Jackson so long because of his popularity status. Aiden had been a handsome distraction to the chaos that had descended upon her life after Peter Hale had bit her on that lacrosse field. In the wake of Allison and Aiden’s deaths, she had stopped looking for the next guy to adorn her arm. The trauma had changed her from the shallow girl she had once been.

Lydia set her shoulders back and gave Stiles a piercing look, “Besides, are you saying that I wouldn’t care about this at all if he was unattractive? Is that what you think of me?"

“No...I’m sorry, Lydia. I didn’t mean it like that,” Stiles stammered.

"I have been trying for weeks to unveil the rest of the deadpool so that we know everyone who is in danger, and we can warn them all; and hopefully, get to them before it is too late.”

"I know," Stiles ran a hand through his brown hair. “Okay, let’s go talk to him.”

* * *

The station was abuzz with the news of Violet's arrest and an APB had been put out for her boyfriend, Garrett whom Agent McCall and Sheriff Stilinski were convinced was also involved in the murder plots. 

Jordan had just finished a frustrating interview with Violet after she was brought into the station. It had been hours and she still refused to talk, and the smug look had reappeared on her face. 

Jordan had just walked out of the interrogation room when he saw the Sheriff's son come through the front doors followed closely by Lydia. Jordan greeted them as they walked towards him bypassing the front desk.

“Your dad should be back within the hour. Do you want to wait in his office?” Jordan asked.

“Actually, we wanted to talk to you,” Stiles revealed.

“Privately,” Lydia added, glancing around at the other deputies walking about.

Confusion flashed across Jordan's face. What sensitive information could they have to tell him and not Sheriff Stilinski?

Jordan led them into the Sheriff's office and shut the door so they wouldn't be overheard. Lydia pulled out a folded piece of paper from her purse and handed it to Jordan.

His brows furrowed as his eyes scanned a list of names and numbers. "What is this?"

Lydia cleared her throat, "That is why there are assassins running around this town lately."

Jordan put two and two together, “This is a hit list?”

“We call it a deadpool,” answered Stiles “Recognize any of the names?”

“Yeah, the Sheriff had me run through a bunch of these last night. But we couldn’t find any of them," Jordan admitted. No wonder the Sheriff had him pulling up a lot of random names lately and trying to reach them. The puzzle pieces of the assassin plots were finally starting to fall into place. Sheriff Stilinski must’ve been shown the hit list already. But why would people in Beacon Hills be on a hit list in the first place?

Before Jordan could ask them that question, Stiles had turned to Lydia and said, “Show him the other thing.” Lydia tentatively reached out to the folded paper in Jordan’s hand and flipped it over, pointing at what else was written there.

A jolt shot through Jordan as he stared at the last name written on the page, his own.

“Okay...that’s kind of terrifying.” This had to be a mistake. How could his name be on this hit list? This didn't make sense. 

“What’s the number?” Jordan finally asked.

“That’s how much your worth,” Lydia told him.

“I’m worth five dollars?” Jordan balked.

“Five million,” Stiles held his palm up indicating with 5 fingers.

Jordan reeled, “I only make 40 thousand a year!" He stared at the number again. "Maybe I should kill myself," he croaked. He realized his world and reality were beginning to crumble around him as he clutched the edge of the Sheriff's desk for support. He needed answers. "I don’t get it. Why am I on this?”

Stiles and Lydia shared a nervous look before Stiles spoke up, “Honestly, that might be a question for another day. Right now, there’s still another third of the list we gotta crack.” More secrets, more skating around the truth, Jordan realized.

“We need the third cipher key. But we need help getting it,” Lydia admitted.

“From who?” Jordan questioned.

“Meredith.” Lydia sounded like she was trying to keep her voice casual and light.

“The girl from Eichen? The last time you saw her, you almost gave her a nervous breakdown," Jordan was not happy with how Meredith’s interview had been handled last night and he didn't want a repeat anytime soon. 

“Uh...almost,” Lydia let out a breath. "Look I know I wasn't my best self that night and I am sorry I lost my patience with Meredith. But you know the reason now. We have to unlock all the parts of the deadpool and warn everyone who's name is on it. This is life and death!"

“And why would Meredith know how to unlock the parts to this deadpool?” Jordan inquired, waving the hit list in the air. 

“Meredith is...like me,” Lydia bit her lip.

“She’s psychic?” Jordan asked.

Lydia twisted her hands together, “Yes. I was able to use my...gift to unlock the first part of the deadpool, but I can’t see the other two cypher keys to unlock the code. That’s why we asked Meredith for help, and the numbers she gave us unlocked this second part that’s in your hand. We desperately need the third key, or more people are going to die.”

Jordan walked to the door and placed his hand on the doorknob to indicate this conversation was over and he had to get back to work, then maybe find some answers on his own. "Look I understand the seriousness of this situation and I agree with you. But we can't just go barging in to interrogate Meredith at Eichen like that. We probably couldn't even get in to see her."

"You could. You're a deputy officer. Wouldn't they have to let you in?" Stiles chimed in.

"That could be seen as an abuse of power," Jordan was not one for flashing his badge around to get what he wanted or obtain special favors.

"I'm on it…" Lydia almost whispered.

Jordan froze and met her eyes, "What?"

Lydia swallowed, "I'm on the deadpool, the first list. I'm worth 20 million dollars dead. Please Jordan."

Jordan stared at her. His own name being on a hit list was a conundrum, but Lydia’s? She was just a high school girl who’s only concerns should be grades and what to wear to prom, not worrying about assassins trying to kill her. But her ‘gift’ did get her noticed around town as a strange girl. Maybe not as strange as Meredith, but even Meredith wasn’t the one finding dead bodies. Maybe the hit list had something to do with law enforcement and the fact that Lydia has uncovered murder scenes. Maybe even the Sheriff was on the deadpool. It was a nice theory, but he quickly realized none of the other names on the list that he held in his hand were law enforcement or had helped law enforcement recently. In fact, he didn't even know any of them.

“You think Meredith might know the third key?” Jordan asked, slowly releasing the door handle he didn’t realize he had been gripping so hard.

Stiles nodded and Lydia said, “It’s the only option we have right now.”

Jordan looked towards Stiles, “Okay, but not one word to your dad.” 

Stiles smiled, “You don’t have to worry about that!”

* * *

A few minutes later, Lydia found herself in the front seat of Jordan’s patrol truck with Stiles in the back and Jordan driving them to Eichen House. 

“I promise, Officer. You got the wrong guy!” Stiles joked from the backseat which was barred off from the front, like all police vehicles.

Jordan arched a brow at Stiles through the rearview mirror and told him, “You know anything you say can be held against you, right?”

“Well, if that’s the case...Angelina Jolie!”

Lydia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile and even Jordan threw her an amused glance before his face turned serious again. 

“Who else is on the deadpool, the first list?” asked Jordan.

“The four Walcott’s, Demarco Montana, Carrie Hudson, whom are all dead as you know,” listed Stiles.

“And they’re dead because they didn’t know,” said Lydia staring out the passenger window. 

“I looked into a Kayleen Bettcher and Elias Town for the Sheriff. Do you guys know them? Are they on the first list?” continued Jordan.

“They are on the first list, but we don’t know them,” said Stiles.

“The people we do know on it are our friends Scott, Derek, Kira, and of course me,” said Lydia.

“If you and your friends are on a deadpool, why are you still walking around town, going to school? Why hasn’t the Sheriff ordered for us to protect you and patrol outside your houses to make sure you’re safe?” Lydia noticed the agitation in Jordan’s tone and the clenching in his jaw.

“Woah, let’s not be too harsh on my dad. He is doing what he can and I’m sure you’ve noticed we never have enough deputies as it is,” said Stiles. “Besides, we have protection. You don’t need to worry about us.”

“Who’s protecting you now?” Jordan glanced into the rearview mirror at Stiles.

“You are,” Lydia attempted a smile to try to ease the tension. She ignored Stiles’ snort from behind her. 

“Not much protection if they are plotting to kill me too,” muttered Jordan as they pulled up to Eichen House. 

Once they were through the looming gates and the heavy front doors, Lydia and Stiles hung back as Jordan talked with the staff member at the front desk. The staff member did not seem happy about letting them in to visit Meredith, but after Jordan tapped his badge and mentioned something about hindering a murder investigation, the staff member motioned for another male employee to bring them to Meredith’s room.

As they followed the middle-aged balding employee down the halls, Lydia couldn’t help noticing how dreary this place felt. The bare white walls looked yellowed in the glare of fluorescent lamps and the air had a stale smell to it. She glanced over at Stiles, who seemed nervous walking the halls of Eichen again. Stiles had been a patient here as he battled the Nogitsune evil spirit that had possessed his body for a time. He had met Meredith here and had also reconnected with Malia after her human transformation from living as a coyote for years.

As the man paused outside Meredith’s door, pulling out his keyring, a male voice shouted from the end of the hall.

“Oh no, not his guy,” Stiles winced.

A tall, strong man with a no-nonsense face strode towards the group, his nametag on his uniform read L. Brunski. 

“What the hell are we running here? A bed and breakfast?” Brunski yelled at their guide. “You do not just open the door for anyone with a badge.” Brunski’s angry eyes swept to Jordan.

“We need to talk with Meredith Walker. It involves a murder investigation,” Jordan kept his voice professional.

“Well, you can talk to her all you want, but these two, especially that one,” he pointed at Stiles. “They’re outta here.”

“They’re crucial witnesses in an ongoing investigation. I wouldn’t have brought them here if it wasn’t absolutely...crucial,” Jordan continued.

“Okay, Deputy. How bout you come back with a court order, then I’ll listen,” Brunski threatened the deputy before he turned to Stiles. “As for you, Mr. Stilinski, how about you come back with payment in full. That’s right. Daddy may be the Sheriff, but he’s late on the bills. I guess those government jobs aren’t as reliable as they used to be.” He smirked in Stiles’ face, egging a reaction out of him.

“But they do help when you need a favor,” Jordan said casually. “Like, how a month ago Canaan P.D. helped  _ you _ get home after blowing a 0.1 on a breathalyzer.”

“Ohhh, no way…” Stiles put his fist to his own mouth to keep from laughing, his eyes gleaming.

Brunski's eyes narrowed at the deputy, “All right. I’m not against a little quid pro quo. Not at all.” He took the keyring and shoved the key into the lock on Meredith’s door.

“You. I like you.” Stiles patted Jordan on the back.

Once they were inside Meredith’s room, Brunski shut the door behind them. They found Meredith alone sitting on her bed. The room was depressingly bare with only a nightstand with a single lamp and another bed across from Meredith’s. Stiles and Lydia sat on the bed across from Meredith and Jordan elected to stand in front of the door. 

“Meredith, do you know why we’re here?” Lydia began.

Meredith nodded her head slowly.

“Do you know the cypher key, Meredith?” asked Stiles.

“I can’t tell you,” Meredith replied.

“Meredith, what do you mean you can’t tell us?” asked Lydia.

“We just need the third key. You can give it to us in numbers, letters, hieroglyphs. Whatever you want,” said Stiles.

“I can’t,” was all Meredith said.

“Then why did you give us the second key?” Lydia felt her emotions rising again. If Meredith wouldn’t tell them, they may never find out who is on the last part of the deadpool...until they were killed.

“I wanted to help. That’s what I want to do. I want to help,” Meredith looked at them eagerly.

“Great! So help us now. Okay? Give us the third cipher key,” pleaded Lydia.

“Things have changed. I...I can’t.” Meredith started looking scared.

“Why not?” Stiles demanded.

“Guys, go easy on her,” Jordan stepped forward.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. He...he doesn’t want me to,” said Meredith nervously.

“He. Who’s he?” implored Stiles.

“Meredith, who doesn’t want you to tell us the third cipher key?” asked Lydia.

“The Benefactor,” Meredith finally admitted.

Lydia stood, if Meredith knew about the Benefactor, then she must know who he is. “What’s his name? Why can’t you just tell us his name?” asked Lydia as Meredith started turning her head side to side.

“You’re shaking your head. Does that mean you don’t know? Or you don’t want to help us?” asked Stiles.

“I can’t...I can’t help anymore,” whimpered Meredith.

“How do you know about him?” Lydia felt like they were losing Meredith and she couldn’t leave here with nothing.

“Guys, I think we better stop,” Jordan dictated.

“Meredith, a lot of people are going to die if you don’t tell us,” Lydia’s voice was desperate.

“I don’t...I don’t know. I don’t know,” Meredith repeated over again.

“Meredith, it’s okay. You’re going to be alright,” Jordan said gently and stepped towards Meredith.

“I DON’T KNOOOOWWWW!” Meredith screamed. 

Lydia felt pain slice through her head as she stumbled back, her hands pressed against her ears. Stiles stood and reached out to steady her. When the scream stopped, he turned her head to look at her left ear where blood was trickling out. 

* * *

The ride back to the station was silent. Jordan wondered if this incident would come back to bite him at the station if the Sheriff heard about it. He wouldn’t put it past that Brunski guy to call and report it. Regardless, Jordan would prepare for that argument later. Right now he had more pressing worries. Like how he was going to deal with being a target for assassins and how to protect the others on the deadpool. He looked over at Lydia who’s eyes were closed, fingers pushing at her temple, dried blood still visible from her ear.

Jordan pulled up into the station parking lot and Stiles made to hop out of the backseat.

“I’ll be right there, Stiles. Give me a minute,” Lydia told him before he shut the door. Her eyes slid to meet Jordan’s, “I owe you an apology. I am sorry we persuaded you into this, especially since it only caused more damage and we are no closer to the third key or the identity of the Benefactor.” 

“Lydia, I understand why you did it. You’re just trying to protect others, that’s my whole job here, Protect and Serve. So I get it,” Jordan assured her. “And I owe you an apology too.”

She looked bewildered, “For what?”

“I just let you walk out of my house yesterday morning without offering to give you a ride or making sure you made it home safely. You could’ve been killed that morning and I would have to live with that.” The cold realization had hit Jordan shortly after she had told him she was on the deadpool as well. He was angry with himself. Forgetting to be a gentleman was one thing, but he felt like he had practically shoved Lydia out the front door into the waiting arms of an assassin. He would’ve never forgiven himself if something had happened to her because of him.

Lydia’s face softened, “Jordan, you didn’t know.” She reached over and placed her hand on his forearm. “Please, don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m fine. Just be careful okay?” She withdrew her hand and he couldn’t help but notice the cold air that replaced her touch on his skin.

“Of course, you too. Please call me if anything happens, or even if you just want me to watch over your house outside,” Jordan rushed out the words before she opened the door. He couldn't help it, he had an overwhelming urge to keep her safe until this whole thing was over. 

She smiled at him, “I will, I promise.”

She hopped out of his truck and walked over to where Stiles was waiting by his blue Jeep. Stiles walked her to the passenger side, opening the door for her and Jordan found himself wishing that he was the one who would be driving her home and making sure that she was taken care of.

* * *

Once Lydia had cleaned up the blood from her ear and shaken off their failed trip to see Meredith, a new determination set in. She was going to unlock this last piece of the deadpool even if she had to keep trying random names or words all night.

“Okay, well we know one thing. Both of the first two keys, Allison and Aiden, were both names of the dead, right?” Stiles repeated what they already knew.

“But we’ve already tried every other dead person’s name we could think of. And if you haven’t noticed, there were a lot of tries,” Lydia sighed and sat in front of her laptop staring at the code, her expression grim.

“Yeah, I noticed,” said Stiles. “You okay?”

“The only other banshee I’ve ever met, and I think I might have just drove her over the edge,” Lydia felt another rush of regret over their dealings with Meredith the past couple of days.

“Lydia, it wasn’t your fault,” said Stiles. “I was there too. And you’re probably not the only...hold on.” He definitely had an idea, “Banshees predict death. Right? So what if the third key is someone who isn’t dead?”

“But will be…” Lydia breathed. She closed her eyes and hovered her fingers over the keyboard for what seemed like the millionth time. But now she seemed to have a fresh direction and her mind dove into the part of her power that she knew would show her the answer.  _ Who is going to die? _ She asked even though she was terrified of the answer. But she was beyond worry or fear as she dove deeper. She saw flashes: an animal skull, a beautiful dark-skinned woman’s face, blood trickling over a stubbled jaw.

Her fingers slowly typed out the name and she opened her eyes. DEREK. She looked up at Stiles and swallowed before she hit enter. To her elation and dismay, it worked. The last part of the deadpool was being revealed right before them. 

“Call Parrish. We need to call Parrish,” Lydia told Stiles as she searched her handbag for his card he had given her. She fished it out and started dialing his office number into her cellphone.

"County Sheriff's Department, this is Deputy Parrish."

“Jordan, it’s Lydia. We have the last part of the deadpool! Meredith is on it, you need to warn her!” 

She heard his heavy sigh on the other end, “Meredith’s dead.”

Lydia’s blood ran cold, “What are you talking about?”

“Lydia, Meredith’s gone. They found her an hour ago in her room. She hung herself. I’m sorry.” 

Shock took over her. She couldn’t speak, she could barely move. She lowered the phone and by Stiles’ expression, she knew he had heard. She could only stand there as Stiles put his arms around her murmuring, “I’m so sorry.” 

She had done this. She had driven Meredith to this horrible end. How could she live with herself now?


	5. The Lakehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia tries to contact Meredith from the dead while Jordan helps deal with the mysterious infection that is plaguing the high school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based off of the episodes Weaponized and Time of Death. In the show, Jordan doesn't appear at all in these episodes and Lydia's scenes were very short. So I'm surprised it managed to come out to 6k words! I added Jordan's presence outside of the school during the outbreak so I can write more of them getting to know each other. The scenes I've been adding between them have been the easiest for me to write. Not sure if it's because of their chemistry or my obsession with their ship, but regardless I just feel like they were meant for each other. Sorry it's been almost a month since my last chapter, my dog (she's more like my child I swear) has cancer and it's been a lot of vet visits which has caused me to stress financially which forces me to pick up more shifts at work to afford it. Anyway, enough of my sob story; hope you enjoy!

Chapter 5: The Lake House

Heaviness pulled on Lydia’s heart as she knelt on the soft white carpet in the soundproof study at the lakehouse. This weighted sorrow seemed to insist on plaguing her over and over again. First Allison, followed by Aiden only the next day, then Meredith. True, she hadn’t been close to Meredith like she had been with the other two, but Meredith was the only one of her kind that she had ever met. They shared the same gift, or curse however you look at it, and a mental connection that she hadn’t experienced before. It was not the same as the connection she had once shared with Peter Hale. He had gotten inside her head, manipulated her and used her for his own gain. Meredith had not been like that. She had heard Lydia call out her name from miles away and escaped Eichen House to find her. She had been a broken person and in Lydia’s frustration at her own failures, she had lashed out at Meredith and demanded the answers that she herself could not produce. 

Shame permeated her entire being and regret was becoming her constant companion. Even her powers had been hampered. She had not been able to see the second key, and she barely had been able to come up with the third one. It had only been Stiles’ suggestions that had guided her to the answer. She hadn’t even sensed that Meredith had been about to die. Wasn’t that the primary power she possessed as a banshee? She should be able to sense when someone is about to die, especially the ones closest to her or other supernatural beings. Failure nagged at Lydia day and night. What was the point to having these abilities if she couldn’t use them to save anyone or help them? She supposed that notion wasn’t entirely true as she had been able to warn at least one. Stiles had contacted Derek Hale about his name being the cipher key to unlock the last third of the deadpool. They could not know if it was an accurate prediction of his death; but considering he was also on the deadpool with seemingly more assassins showing up in Beacon Hills every week, it was definitely foreboding. 

Lydia stared at the cardboard box she had set on the floor beside her. The small box held all of Meredith’s earthly possessions. She was surprised at how easily she was able to obtain Meredith’s belongings from Eichen House. As Meredith had no living family members, Eichen would have just destroyed the items if no one claimed them. Guilt had partly driven Lydia to ask after anything Meredith had left behind, but she also wanted to see if there was anything personal in her possessions that she could possibly use to contact her. Lydia knew from TV and movies that you always needed a personal object from the dead in order to conduct a seance. She also knew it was probably silly psychic hogwash, but after her eyes had been opened to the supernatural world a year ago the lines had been blurred between truth and fiction. Maybe there was a way to contact the dead. She never had any banshee holding her hand and sharing all the secrets to her powers. She had stumbled through the dark ever since her transformation with no one to show her the way. Scott had Derek, Liam now had Scott, and Kira had her parents. Lydia supposed the only other one who had lacked any real guidance was Malia who was raised by an adoptive family of normal humans. 

She took a deep breath and opened the box to find only a few items inside: an empty perfume bottle, a bouquet of dried roses, and a small teddy bear. She touched the bear delicately with her fingertips and wondered if the stuffed animal had been one of the only small comforts Meredith had in that awful place. A lump formed in her throat just thinking about how terrible it would be to die in a place like Eichen House, with no family and no friends. 

Her eyes lifted up to the record player and she turned on the turntable. She lifted the stylus and placed it onto the blank record, praying this would work, that she would be able to hear something like the first time. If banshees were so connected with the dead, then why wouldn’t they be able to talk with them?

She spoke to the empty room, “Alright Meredith. I’m not sure how to do this. I’m not a psychic. And apparently I’m not much of a banshee either. But I’m trying to help my friends. I don’t know if you can hear me or, uh, what I’m supposed to ask you. But if I have this thing, it’s got to work some of the time. It’s gotta help someone. Maybe what I really wanted to say was...I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve helped you. I’m sorry.” A tear escaped, falling down her cheek. She needed Meredith to know the shame and remorse she felt over her suicide otherwise the guilt would haunt her forever. 

But silence and the static of the record player was all that answered her plea. Frustration welled up inside her as she yanked the stylus off of the record and turned off the turntable. She turned to the box of belongings and started to close it up, but something caught her eye she hadn’t noticed before. Tucked under the stuffed bear was a photograph. Lydia picked it up and looked at a black and white photograph of Meredith. Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed the background. She stood up suddenly and looked at the corner of the very room she was standing in. She held up the photograph and realized that was the very same corner Meredith had been standing in when the picture was taken. How could this be? When had Meredith ever been to the lake house?

Her mother had to have known about this. Had she known who Meredith was? Lydia decided to text her mom that she wanted to talk. Curiously, the text failed to send. Lydia tried again with the same result. She remembered her mom was at the school today helping out with the PSATs. Lydia was far ahead with her school credits and had already taken the PSATs early so she hadn’t had to join Scott, Stiles, Kira, and Malia today for the test. She decided to drive up to the school just to make sure everything was ok, certain that her mom had just turned off her phone for some reason. 

The early winter night had already darkened the sky as Lydia pulled up to the school parking lot a half an hour later. Knots began to form in her stomach as she saw the buzz of activity surrounding the school. Lights were flashing from police and ambulances interspersed between large vans with CDC painted on the sides. LED tower lights had been set up along with large tents where people fully dressed in hazmat suits were walking in and out. 

Lydia barely got the car in park before she flew out of the driver’s seat towards the school’s entrance. An unfamiliar officer stopped her before the orange barricades that had been set up to keep people away from the school. 

“What’s going on here?” she asked the officer breathlessly.

“Ma’am, you’re going to need to step back,” was all the officer told her.

“My mother is in there!” she pleaded with him.

“Ma’am, I’m not going to ask you again…” he continued, but Lydia had spotted Stiles’ father behind him.

“Sheriff!” she cried out to him as she struggled against the officer forcing her back.

“Woah, hey I know this girl. Let her in,” Stilinski told the officer as he moved towards them. 

Relieved, Lydia moved forward to talk to Stilinski. “My mom’s in there, what’s happening?”

“We’re working on it.” He put a supportive hand on her shoulder, “Look I have to talk to the head of the CDC right now, why don’t you find Parrish and he can fill you in.”

Lydia stood there and watched him trot over to a large tent. She looked around for a familiar face, feeling helpless and lost.

* * *

Jordan would recognize those strawberry blonde waves anywhere, even swept up in a ponytail. He started making his way towards Lydia who was looking anxiously in the other direction.

“Lydia,” he called over to her and she turned around.

“Jordan! The Sheriff told me to find you. Can you tell me what’s going on?” Her eyes wide and beseeching.

“Let’s walk over this way, out of the way and we can talk,” he jerked his head to his right.

He led her over to a tent that was set up with some folding chairs and a table with coffee and snacks for the CDC workers. “Coffee?” he asked her, grabbing a cup and pouring himself a cup of black coffee.

She shook her head, “I’m already too anxious as it is. Coffee will just make it worse.” She sat in a chair, twisting her hands together. “Is everyone alright?”

He picked up a chair, set it down in front of her, and sat facing her. Without wasting another minute he told her, “There’s been some sort of outbreak inside the school. The CDC’s first impressions are it’s something similar to smallpox, but the Sheriff suspects something more heinous.”

“Like what?” Lydia furrowed her dark reddish brows.

Jordan lowered his voice, “He thinks it’s the work of more assassins trying to cash in on multiple targets on the deadpool in one swipe.”

Lydia’s gaze dropped unfocused to the ground, “Can’t say I’m surprised. It seems every week there’s another assassin running around this town.” She bit her lip, “Scott, Kira, and Malia are all inside and would come to a massive amount of money.” She shook her head in disbelief, “But Stiles and my mom are also inside, not to mention all the other students and teachers. It would be a massacre!”

Her hazel eyes swept up to meet Jordan’s, “How are we supposed to keep ourselves safe from all of these unknown people trying to hunt us all down? I already am constantly looking over my shoulder and making sure I’m not followed everywhere I go. And now they’ve come up with some deadly disease that may take out half the school. This is insane.”

“Hey, it hasn’t killed anyone yet, I can tell you that for sure. I’m sure the CDC will figure out how to treat it. As for your safety, have you thought about leaving town for a while? Maybe until it’s safer here in Beacon Hills?” he asked.

She shook her head, “I can’t leave my friends, and I would never be able to convince my mom that we have to leave town. I probably couldn’t come up with a good enough reason for her to believe.”

Jordan studied her face, “Your mom doesn’t know does she? About the deadpool.”

“No, and she never will if I can help it,” she said defiantly. “She...she wouldn’t handle it well.”

“Are you close with your mom?” Jordan veered off the subject trying to put her at ease.

Lydia gave him a small smile, “Sometimes. We fight like any mother and daughter I suppose, but she’s all I really have now. I don’t have any siblings and my dad left us and started a new family whom I’ve never met. He doesn’t really come around anymore.” A sadness crept into her voice as she spoke and Jordan felt a pang of empathy for her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to unload my messed up family issues onto you.”

“That’s alright,” he reassured her. “You’re not the only one. With a messed up family I mean.”

“Oh?” Lydia furrowed her brows sympathetically.

Jordan’s hands tightened around his coffee cup, “My father loves alcohol more than anything in this world. Even more than my mother who is still there taking care of him everyday. My older sister fell into the world of drugs as a teenager, dropped out of high school. Half of the time no one knows where she is these days but when she does appear, my mom welcomes her with open arms. My mother is the sweetest kindest person I know.” He paused, “And she deserves better.”

“She’ll never leave, will she?” said Lydia softly.

“It’s the only life she knows. The guilt of leaving her family behind would kill her,” Jordan told her. He didn’t know why he was sharing all of this with someone he had only met weeks ago, but it felt nice to tell someone who could sympathize. Military guys are never big on sharing deep personal baggage and the other officers at the station never really dug into his personal life. 

Lydia cocked her head, “Do you ever go and visit them?”

Jordan found the words spilling out of his mouth, “When I left the military I went straight home, but my father was worse than ever. He went into a rage when he learned that I had left the military when my contract ended. Started yelling and throwing stuff. My mother tried to intervene to calm him down, but he broke a glass and started swinging.” Jordan held up his left forearm for Lydia to see and her eyes widened. “I got these cuts from protecting my mother from my own father. He didn’t hurt her, but the neighbors had called the police and my father spent the night sobering up in jail. I haven’t seen my folks since that night two years ago, but I call my mom when I can to make sure she’s doing okay.” Jordan leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his short brown hair. “That’s the night I decided that I wanted to be a cop. I was really impressed with how the officers handled the situation calmly and how well they treated my mother. Helping and protecting people makes all the bad that comes along with this job worth it.”

Lydia smiled at him, “You’re a good cop, Jordan. Not every officer has the best intentions with your profession.”

“I’d like to think that all my coworkers feel the same as I do,” he said. “They all seem like good people. I believe that most people are good.”

“Maybe you have too much faith that people are good more than they are not,” Lydia’s eyes examined him.

“I’ve come across some truly evil people in my life, like these assassins who are willing to kill complete strangers for money, and some leaders in war. But most people who fought against us in the Middle East are not evil, merely manipulated by vile leaders who use them for their cause. Even my father is manipulated by the poison he drinks, but I don’t truly believe he is evil. Good people don’t have to be superheroes. Everyday, people are doing good things. Just look at you for example, you have been listening to me prattle on about my personal life when your friends and your mother are inside fighting an unknown disease that could be an assassination attempt.”

Lydia looked away suddenly, “I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“I’m not a good person ,” Lydia dragged her pained eyes back to meet his, her shoulders slumping. “Meredith is dead because of me. There is no one else at fault. I...I killed her.”

Jordan watched as her hazel eyes shimmered with unshed tears, “Lydia, you did not kill Meredith. Meredith was sick. She was in Eichen House for a reason and if anyone failed Meredith, then it was the Eichen staff. Their job should be helping their patients and preventing stuff like that from happening; not keeping them in a prison with the bare minimum requirements.” Jordan couldn’t hide the disgust from his voice as he spoke about Eichen. He was not impressed with how the patients were kept and handled there. It felt more like a jail with impassive guards rather than a safe house meant to help the mentally ill. 

Lydia sniffed, “I just don’t know how to lessen the guilt I feel. I should never have shouted at her or demanded anything from her at all. I feel like a terrible person.”

Jordan leaned forward a little, “Truly terrible people do not feel guilt, or shame, or remorse for their actions, Lydia. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how we handle our mistakes that define us. You are being too hard on yourself.”

“I just wish I could’ve told her how sorry I am,” she admitted.

“Well, if she was psychic like you then maybe she already knows,” he suggested.

Lydia sat eyeing him for a moment before saying, “Thank you, Jordan.”

“Well, I better go see if there’s an update from the Sheriff,” Jordan stood, putting his coffee cup on the table beside them. He looked down at Lydia, “Are you going to be ok?”

She nodded up at him, “You know, if you didn’t have a job already I would tell you to apply to be a school counselor. You’re really good at it...helping I mean.”

“But then I don’t get to handcuff the bad guys,” Jordan winked down at her. A smile tugged at her lips, but then her expression changed suddenly and she gasped, clutching her chest. Her face grimaced as if in pain and her breaths grew heavy. “What is it? Are you okay?” His voice heavy with concern.

“I need to talk to the Sheriff. Now,” her tone on the edge of panic.

* * *

Lydia had to know what was going on inside the school. That cold, familiar sense of dread had flooded her quickly and she knew what it meant. She hurried after Jordan towards the bigger tent where Sheriff Stilinski still conversed with different CDC workers. 

“Sheriff!” Jordan waved him over, stepping to the side so Stilinski could see Lydia behind him.

Stilinski walked quickly over to the both of them and huddled them off to the side, “Okay, here’s what we know. Smallpox has been ruled out. The symptoms start with a red blotchy rash, followed by a low fever, lightheadedness, and fainting spells. For some reason, the virus has targeted all the students and only one adult, Coach Finstock. The rest of the teachers and staff have not contracted it, including your mother, Lydia.” He paused before continuing in a strained voice, “However, Scott, Kira, Malia, and my son are all missing.” 

Relief at hearing her mom was doing fine mixed with fear for her fellow pack members. Did the virus not affect them or were they in a worse state than their human counterparts? But Stiles must be with them as well and he wasn’t supernatural. She could only assume they were hunting the perpetrator; but he or she might not even be in the school. A biochemical attack could’ve been set up hours before, allowing the assassin to be miles away when the virus was released.

“Do you think your son and his friends got out of the school?” Jordan interrupted Lydia’s thoughts.

“I really hope not,” said the Sheriff, his blue eyes on Lydia. “Lydia, all of this is still very new to me, and I don’t know how it works, but I still have to ask. Do you have any kind of indication? Any kind of feeling about this? Is someone in there going to die?”

“Yes,” Lydia croaked. “And it’s not just a feeling.”

* * *

Lydia didn’t know what was worse, being in the middle of a fight for your life or anxiously waiting to learn if the people you care about had survived theirs. She felt helpless once again. She tried focusing on that dreadful knowledge that had hit her in the gut half an hour ago letting her know that someone was about to die. If only she could hone her power to telling her who, where, and how. Then her powers could actually become useful to someone. Allison’s death was the only one that she had known the answer to who when it happened. When Aiden had died, she hadn’t known the who, just the where. 

Lydia had gone back to her car to try to escape the noise and bright lights. She put her hands over her face and screamed in frustration. No matter how she tried to focus, she couldn’t detect anything more at the moment. For all she knew, whoever she sensed would die is already dead. Nobody was able to get any messages in or out via cell phone because the CDC had cut all communications surrounding the school. 

Jordan said he would come find her if he learned anything new. She was thankful he had been here at the school to talk to her. She had to admit to herself that she felt a little better about Meredith, and herself. She wondered what kind of supernatural Jordan could possibly be. If he was on the deadpool along with everyone else, he had to be something. Maybe there were supernaturals who weren’t some kind of monster or mutant. Maybe some were simply helpful healers or wise mentors; like more on the angelic side than the demonic. Lydia was sure what religious folk would think if they knew that werewolves and banshees existed. Agents of the devil they would be branded, and most likely hunted down and burned at the stake. Well, if people still burned others alive that is. She wouldn’t put it past these assassins to try. Maybe the deadpool was a religious vendetta to begin with. A way to rid Beacon Hills of its ‘demonic components’. If Jordan truly didn’t know what Lydia and her friends were, she wondered what he would think of the truth. He did tell her when they first met that he kept an open mind. Maybe she should tell him what was really going on, who she and her friends were, who he might be. However, there was still the possibility that he knows exactly who he is and who all the other supernaturals are in this town. If he does, he was a master at hiding it. Lydia found herself wondering if she should get to know him better, or if she should stay away. His easy smile and soft green eyes were getting hard to forget…

* * *

Dawn was breaking and the activity outside the school was abuzz with new information as hazmat suit wearers emerged from the building. Jordan received snippets of reports from different workers and officers. The people that were quarantined inside the school with the infection were now recovering from the strange illness, their fevers and rashes rapidly abating. 

In less public news, Agent McCall had gone into the school searching for his son, Scott, and the other missing teens. He had come across a man with a gun pointed straight at Stiles Stilinski’s head and killed him before he could pull the trigger. It seemed as though everyone inside the school was going to be alright and the perpetrator responsible for the chaos was dead. 

Jordan left the front of the school in search of Lydia to share the news. He found her across the parking lot sitting in her car. The driver’s seat had been tipped back and her eyes were closed, her head tilted to the side. He hesitated, not wanting to wake her, but he figured she would want to know all of the good news as soon as possible. He tapped lightly on her window and she jolted awake. Her momentary panic faded when she saw Jordan and he stepped back as she opened the door. After pulling herself out and shutting the door, she yawned and leaned back against the car. 

“Any news?” she asked, reaching up and kneading her neck with her fingers.

Jordan filled her in on all the recent developments and watched as relief flooded her body and happiness skittered across her tired face. 

“It’s over,” she sighed, her eyes closing, dark lashes standing out against her pale skin.

“We’re just waiting on the green light from the CDC for when we can open the doors and let everyone out. If you want to keep waiting here, I can come back and get you when that happens.”

She shook her head, “No, I’ll follow you over. I need to see my mom and my friends.”

“Of course,” he replied as he turned and walked with her back to the front doors of the high school. “Forgive me for being nosy, but why weren’t you taking the PSATs with everyone else?”

“Oh, I already took them last year,” she said nonchalantly.

He threw her a glance, “So you’re ahead of everyone in your grade?”

She shrugged, “Well, after this semester I technically could graduate high school despite being a junior. I will have all of my required credits.”

Jordan wasn’t surprised she was much more intelligent than most other high school students. The girls he had known in high school were obsessed with the latest fads and gossip. They didn’t hold a candle to conversing with Lydia Martin. 

“It’s just as well,” she continued. “I was put into kindergarten a year late because my dad insisted I be older than my peers. Something about making me more mature,” she rolled her eyes. “So I’ll be 18 in a few weeks while all of my friends are turning 17. So it all evens out.”

They stopped, back near the doors again and Jordan turned to her. “Well, Happy early Birthday to you.”

She suddenly frowned at him, “Unfortunately at this rate, I may not make it to my 18th birthday.”

Her remark hit him like a slap in the face. “Don’t say that! You’re going to be fine. We’re all going to be fine. I’ll have the Sheriff put out extra patrols, I’ll even-”

“Jordan,” she cut him off. “You seem to have a heart of gold, but you can’t stop every assassin that makes their way into Beacon Hills. You can’t protect everyone on the deadpool all at once.”

He crossed his arms, “Well, I can try.”

She pushed her fingers against her brow as if trying to stave off a headache. “I”m sorry. I’m just tired. I’m...trying to be realistic about this whole thing. We may see more people get killed in the near future unless we find this Benefactor and put a stop to this madness. It’s really too bad Meredith would not tell us who the Benefactor is…” her voice trailed off.

Before Jordan could think of a response, the Sheriff walked up. “They’re going to open the doors now. Lydia, you can come in with us.”

Lydia nodded at him, “Thank you.”

Lydia followed the Sheriff through the open doors with Jordan taking up the rear. He watched as Lydia’s footsteps quickened as she yelled down the school hallway, “Mom...Mom!” 

She broke into a run and threw her arms around a middle aged woman with dark auburn hair. Jordan felt a pang of envy watching them, missing his own mother and regretting what had happened the last time they were together. He resolved to give her a call today after he got off work. He hadn’t talked to her since finding out he was on a deadpool with potential assassins plotting how to kill him. He hoped she knew how much he loved and appreciated her, especially if anything bad did end up happening to him. 

He followed Stilinski down a couple hallways and through a couple doors to the room with the body where Agent McCall had shot the man supposedly responsible for all of this. Jordan wasn’t looking forward to all the reports he would have to write up before he could go home, call his mom, and get some much needed sleep.

* * *

The next night Lydia found herself back up at the lakehouse. She needed to find out why Meredith had her picture taken inside that room. She looked through closets and drawers for a couple hours, finding nothing out of the ordinary. She wandered down to the boathouse which had an array of old junk stored on dusty shelves and cobwebbed corners. 

A creak on the old wooden floors stopped her in her tracks as she was scouring through items on the worktable set up below the windows. Her heart pounded as she grabbed the only weapon in reach, a wooden oar for the old canoe her dad had left stored there. She whirled around and lifted the oar to face whoever was coming up behind her. A womanly gasp stopped her arms from bringing the oar down on the prowler’s head.

“Mom! What are you doing?” Lydia squealed, she had expected an assassin sneaking up behind her.

Her mother caught her breath and put her hands on her hips, “What are YOU doing?”

“Nothing,” Lydia turned and put the oar back against the wall. She turned back, looking curiously at her mother. “How did you know I was here? Did you follow me?”

Ms. Martin stammered, “No, I-I’m getting ready for the Open House tomorrow.”

Lydia raised a brow at her, “The Open House is next week.”

Her mother let out an exasperated sigh, “Okay, I followed you. Honey you come up here every weekend, sometimes even during the week, and as far as I can tell, there’s not a boy involved, so I really have no clue what you’re up to.” Lydia saw the concern etched into her face. 

Lydia leaned back on the worktable, “I’m trying to figure something out. Something important. And honestly, Mom, you don’t need to be involved in every single detail of my life.”

“No, but I’d like to help if I can.”

Lydia had planned on waiting a day or two before asking her mom about Meredith. Her stressful ordeal with the school outbreak had only ended early this morning and Lydia had wanted her to rest. But so far there was nothing Lydia had found to help solve this mystery so she picked up the photograph and handed it to her mother. “Do you know her?”

Surprise registered across Ms. Martin’s face, “Meredith Walker?” 

So her mother did know Meredith. “How did you know her, Mom?”

“Through your Grandmother, Lorraine Martin. As you know, she owned this lakehouse for many years.” Her mother walked to the boat dock, looking out over the water. 

“Did Grandma meet Meredith in Eichen House?” Lydia knew that her father’s mother had also died in Eichen House years ago. Suicide. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she realized the similarities between the two.

“No, this was before all of that. It all started with Maddy, the woman she left your grandfather for. I don’t think your father ever really forgave her for that, but your grandmother was a strong willed woman and never did anything she didn’t want to do. Lorraine was away on a business trip for IBM in San Francisco while Maddy was back here. Lorraine said that she kept hearing rain, but there was nothing but sunshine and blue sky outside. She said a thunderstorm raged louder and louder in her ears driving her nuts until she was screaming. She called Maddy and asked her what the weather was like and Maddy told her it was a nice day and she was going to take the boat out. Maddy used to be on the yacht racing team and always found excuses to be on the water rather than dry land. Your grandmother said she didn’t tell Maddy about the storm she kept hearing because she thought she was going mad. Well, it turned out a storm did hit the lake, later that afternoon.” Lydia’s mother looked over at her, “It took them four days to find Maddy’s body in this lake. 

“After Maddy’s death, your grandmother became obsessed with finding out why she had heard the storm before it had hit. Parapsychologists built the soundproof study in the lakehouse specially designed for their pseudoscientific experiments. But Lorraine got no answers to her questions so she eventually dived into more extreme measures like the occult, mediums, and psychics. It always creeped me out and your father could never understand her obsession.”

Lydia stood still soaking all this information in. Her mother may not have any idea what her grandmother was, but Lydia now did. Grandma had been a banshee. She had heard the storm that had killed Maddy before it happened. Grandma hadn’t known the who or when; she had known the how. 

Lydia had known about Maddy from pictures and all the racing trophies and plaques that decorated the lake house, but she had never known the circumstances of her death which was before Lydia had even been born. “How did Grandma find Meredith?”

“A Psychologist came across Meredith who had worked with your grandmother on the study. Meredith claimed that she heard voices or things that weren’t there, but for some reason the psychologist had ruled out schizophrenia. They brought Meredith to the study for some tests and the tests drove her insane, almost killing her. She was hospitalized for over a year before transferring to Eichen House. Your Grandmother was also admitted to Eichen shortly after the incident.”

Lydia’s mother walked over to a set of storage shelves and grabbed a large urn off the middle shelf, hidden behind some life preserves and a tackle box. She walked over to Lydia and handed her the urn.

“These are your grandmother’s ashes.”

“Grandma died in Eichen House,” Lydia said softly.

“Your father had a difficult relationship with his mother. But after the things she said, and the way she acted…” Lydia’s mom trailed off. 

“He thought she was crazy.” It all made sense to Lydia now. All the times her dad had ranted about his insane mother. What would her own mother think of the voices in Lydia’s head or her attraction to death? Her parents might decide Lydia was better off at Eichen House as well. She shuddered at the thought of being trapped there. 

“Well, she said she heard things,” her mother stated.

Lydia changed the subject, “Why would she want her ashes in here?”

“Well, actually, she didn’t. She left instructions to have them spread across the lake,” her mother admitted.

“How come you haven’t done it?”

“Because she wanted you to do it. When you turned 18. Don’t ask me why. But since there’s only a few weeks till that, I suppose now is as good of a time as any,” her mother gestured to the water.

Lydia twisted off the top of the urn and looked inside. Instead of gray, chalky ash, black sand glittered back up at her. “Mom, these aren’t Grandma’s ashes.”

“What do you mean? Of course they are.”

“No,” Lydia reached inside the urn and grabbed a handful of the black sand. “It’s mountain ash.”

She threw the handful down towards the water at the edge of the boathouse. The black ash lined up with the ledge perfectly. Mountain ash was drawn to mountain ash. Lydia glanced around the boathouse, “The whole building. It’s all made of mountain ash.”

Confusion splayed over Ms. Martin’s face, “What is mountain ash?”

“Um, it’s a special kind of...you know what Mom? Just forget about it.”

“Okay...well I have something else here from your grandmother.” Lydia’s mom handed her a folded piece of paper. “This is the last thing your grandmother wrote down before she died. I don’t even know why I kept it because it’s basically nonsense.”

Lydia’s eyes widened after looking at the note, “Are you absolutely sure Grandma’s dead?” She squeaked.

Her mom looked baffled by Lydia’s question, “Yes. I mean, she has to be.”

“This isn’t nonsense, Mom. It’s code.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would love any reviews or even constructive criticism on my work. I am striving to become a better writer so anything you can comment is great! Thank you for reading


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